Tracey Emin Lost a Few Organs and Got a New Lease on Life

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Tracey Emin, known for being part of the rebellious and lively ‘Young British Artists’ (YBAs) of the 1990s, is having her biggest exhibition to date at the Tate Modern in London on February 27th. The show explores her difficult childhood, health challenges, controversial art, and her regrets.

You’ve faced incredibly difficult experiences – childhood sexual assault, a suicide attempt as a teen, rape, a complicated abortion, homelessness, struggles with alcohol, poverty, painful breakups, and recently, surgery for bladder cancer. How has creating art helped you cope with and overcome everything you’ve been through?

Essentially, I’ve always been my own boss and set my own schedule. Life’s ups and downs haven’t disrupted my usual way of doing things. If I’m going through something difficult, like heartbreak, I allow myself the time to fully feel it – even if it takes weeks. I consider myself very fortunate, both practically and emotionally, because I’m deeply connected to my feelings. I’m aware of what I’m experiencing internally. Though, due to medical changes, I’ve lost touch with certain physical sensations.

Do you believe there are aspects of your life that should remain completely private? I wouldn’t create my past installation—a list of everyone I’ve been intimate with from 1963 to 1995—today. Honestly, I probably couldn’t even make that installation now; I haven’t had that many relationships. But even if I could, I wouldn’t. I was more open about things back then, and I didn’t have as much to worry about losing. It’s probably a good thing it was destroyed, because if it still existed, I think it would cause legal trouble for some people.

Looking back at everything you’ve created for this major exhibition at the Tate Modern, did revisiting your work feel particularly challenging? And do you think creating your art has been more emotionally taxing than for artists like Jeff Koons or James Turrell, whose work isn’t as openly personal? I see art as having many different spaces, and I focus on my own. Some people want art that simply makes them happy, like a large sculpture by Jeff Koons. That’s fine – enjoy it! My work isn’t necessarily about feeling good; it’s more about prompting you to think and take a moment. I won’t claim my art is more meaningful or that I’ve suffered more for it. I’m simply focused on my own creative path and what I’m trying to achieve.

Honestly, if you’d told me years ago that I’d be most remembered for reviewing films titled Everyone I Have Ever Slept With and My Bed, I would have been shocked. It’s a really strange pairing of titles to define an artist’s legacy, isn’t it? It just goes to show you never know what work will truly resonate with audiences and stick with them long after the credits roll.

It’s remarkable that I created two truly important works by the time I was 35. Many artists never produce anything that fundamentally shifts how people view art, even if they’re talented. After my surgery, I realized I didn’t want to be remembered as just another average British artist from the 90s. That experience really motivated me, and I’ve accomplished more in the last five years than I did throughout my entire life. I got my priorities straight – I’ve been sober for almost six years and have completely dedicated myself to my art.

You have said that a lot of your work is about love. What’s the hardest thing about depicting love?

When I paint, I don’t plan anything beforehand. It’s a very intuitive and spontaneous process – almost like I’m possessed by inspiration, just letting the paint flow. I often don’t even realize what the painting will be until it’s finished. For example, if I end up painting a scene of intimacy, it’s something that emerges naturally, not something I consciously decided to create.

Do you see your art as political at all? 

I’m almost tempted to gather all my artwork dealing with abortion and exhibit it in a Texas museum, just to see the reaction. I once took a road trip across America with Carl Freedman, and honestly, it exposed me to some incredibly racist and disturbing places – places that I think many people on the coasts are completely unaware even exist. It was genuinely frightening. And sadly, I believe what we’re seeing happen in America today is a direct result of that hidden side of the country – a side that makes up a significant portion of the population.

Have you noticed a shift in how female artists are viewed during your life? There’s been a recent trend of galleries actively searching for forgotten female artists – the ones who might have work hidden away at home. It’s a big change, and I don’t say that negatively. I truly believe art is one of the best things humans create. It seems to emerge spontaneously, like a natural process, similar to a garden or an expression of our inner selves. It might sound a bit fanciful, but art feels like something that resonates with our souls.

Many of your pieces feature poetry or written words, a technique shared by other female artists like Shirin Neshat, Barbara Kruger, and Louise Bourgeois. Do you think women artists tend to use text in their work more frequently than men?

Many women, particularly during the 1970s, felt a need to make their voices heard. Suddenly, they began working as photographers, journalists, and art critics, clearly and powerfully communicating their perspectives—much like artist Jenny Holzer. They weren’t afraid to state their opinions, and using strong, direct language was the most effective way to do so. The message was clear and unmistakable.

Do you find that people in America react to your paintings differently than in Britain?  

People often asked me why I didn’t think I could build a career in the US. I used to explain it by saying I was too bold, and that America already had plenty of that kind of personality. But I’m starting to think I was mistaken. It wasn’t about me at all, but more about the timing and the situation. I recently discovered there’s actually a lot of young American interest in my work, which I never realized! I now believe America is craving something more personal and human, and that’s something I have a lot of to offer.

How do you look back on your YBA days now?

I was talking to someone recently about how we even finished some of those projects, and they pointed out I was practically working around the clock. They weren’t wrong, honestly. I never touched drugs, not once, but I definitely fueled myself with alcohol and cigarettes. Looking back, I think that’s actually what allowed me to stay ahead – I didn’t waste money on anything else, so I could keep things moving.

Why did you decide to open an art school?

A fantastic building came up for sale, and some friends suggested I buy it. At first, I wondered what I’d even do with it, but they pointed out it would be perfect for an art school, which I thought was a brilliant idea. I ended up buying it within a week. It had belonged to a charity that was closing down, and it felt like a wonderful opportunity. Now, it houses a cafe that serves as a training kitchen for people facing long-term unemployment and learning difficulties, alongside studios for working artists. I also run the TEAR artist residency program and cover all the costs myself.

Egon Schiele and Edvard Munch are two influential artists. What is it about their work that you find compelling?

Their art explored powerful feelings – things like jealousy, anger, sadness, love, and everything in between. I connected with it immediately, even as a 14-year-old when I first found their work.

How can you tell what a piece of work wants to be?

You know, I’m currently working on a fun project for the town here in Margate – I’m drawing my cats! It’s a thing artists do around here. But honestly, that’s just how my creative process goes. I’ll start with something simple, like a cat drawing, and before I know it, I’m completely lost in something much bigger. It’s the same with birthday cards – I’ll intend to make one quick card, and suddenly I’m hours into painting these huge canvases. It just…happens, you know?

How is your prognosis? Is your health good?,

Dealing with a urostomy bag and the stoma created during surgery is challenging and draining. Life without a bladder is especially tiring, as your kidneys have to work much harder. I constantly need to monitor my health to avoid getting sick. I was diagnosed with bladder cancer – specifically, squamous cell cancer – and the only effective treatment was complete removal of the bladder. Chemotherapy and radiation weren’t options.

Looking back, would you do anything differently? 

After battling cancer and being left unable to move, my biggest regret was smoking – I always knew it was harmful. I also had some unhealthy relationships in the past. I went ten years without sex, choosing to be celibate, which, looking back, was probably too extreme. I wish I hadn’t been so quick to anger when I was younger, and I wish I could combine the peace I feel now with the physical strength of my youth – I used to swim and cycle constantly. But honestly, I’ve never been happier or more content than I am now, after facing cancer. It completely changed my perspective. I just wanted to live. It was a turning point, letting go of all the negativity, anger, and bitterness I used to carry. I sometimes feel like a lot of what was bothering me was actually physical, like something was wrong with my body.

I understand you went through periods where you stopped painting for a while. I heard a story about you trying to get back into it by isolating yourself in a room for a few weeks – is that true?

That piece was called Exorcism of the Last Painting I Ever Made. I spent three and a half weeks creating it in a room filled with distorted, fish-eye lenses. I was completely naked, surrounded by large canvases. It was a difficult experience – I remember sitting there, covering myself with a copy of The Guardian, and wondering what I’d gotten myself into. The lenses created a strange effect; from a distance, people would see a tiny, nude figure, but as I moved closer to the walls, they’d get an unexpectedly close-up view. After about a week, I stopped worrying about the audience and focused entirely on the painting. I decided to revisit art history, so I created pieces in the style of Picasso and Egon Schiele. I think the Schiele one could even be included in a museum exhibition.

How important is this exhibition at the Tate Modern, overall? Do you see it as a significant event?

This feels like a major turning point. I plan to keep working relentlessly, in any way I can. Even if I’m unable to physically work, I’ll write. And if I can’t write by hand, I’ll dictate it. This drive comes from a deeply personal place – experiencing homelessness twice with my family, including my mother and brother. It made me realize how crucial having a home is, and I vowed to never be in that situation again.

Are you still friends with Joan Collins?

Joan is a really vibrant and genuine friend of mine. We live near each other in the South of France, and while she always seems so put-together, I haven’t felt my best lately. She’s hilarious, incredibly kind, and has truly experienced a lot in life – what you see is what you get with her.

You made posters for a lost cat, and people who love art started taking them. It must be strange to have so much interest in everything you create, right?

I included something in my will I call “the polystyrene cup syndrome.” Basically, just because I do something, doesn’t mean it’s art – only what I specifically declare to be art actually is. That’s really important to me. We updated my will thoroughly because I thought I was seriously ill. It’s quite something, actually. Now, my main goal is to pass away with everything perfectly organized, like a grand Egyptian pharaoh.

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2026-02-09 19:07