A London diary entry on catching a 40-year retrospective in its final days, sitting with someone else’s rawest work, and why I nearly didn’t go at all
I nearly let Tracey Emin’s retrospective at Tate Modern close without seeing it, kept telling myself I’d get round to it eventually, and only actually went this week because a friend messaged saying it genuinely closes this Sunday and I’d regret missing it, which, having now seen it, is entirely correct.
Why I’d Been Putting This Particular Show Off For So Long
Something about the description, forty years of work laying bare her life, sexual violence, abortion, recent life-threatening illness, made me quietly avoid it for weeks. I think I assumed it would simply be too heavy for a casual Tuesday, the kind of exhibition you need to properly brace yourself for rather than just wander into.
What Actually Happened Once I Finally Made Myself Go
It was heavy, genuinely, but not in the way I’d braced for. Standing in front of “My Bed” in person, having only ever seen it in textbooks and think-pieces, did something odd to my sense of scale, both literal and emotional. It’s smaller than I expected and somehow considerably more devastating for that.
How The Show Handles Moving Between Her Career Highs And Her Genuinely Difficult Personal Lows
The curation doesn’t soften the transitions, doesn’t cushion you between a Turner Prize-nominated career highlight and a piece made in the aftermath of genuine trauma, and I found that refusal to smooth things over one of the most honest curatorial choices I’ve encountered in ages.
What I Actually Felt Leaving The Gallery Afterward
Wrung out, properly, in the specific way only certain art manages, and also strangely grateful, for an artist willing to turn genuinely traumatic lived experience into something this unflinching and this public. I sat on a bench outside for a good twenty minutes before I felt ready to get back on the tube.
Whether I’d Tell Someone Else To Rush And See This Before It Closes
Absolutely, though I’d tell them honestly what they’re walking into rather than let them stumble in unprepared the way I nearly did. This is not a show to see on autopilot; it’s one to actually sit with, properly, while you still have the chance this weekend.