Hello my fellow art junkies! It really has been a hot minute since I have last written so I am sending my sincerest apologies. There are a variety of reasons why I have been slacking on this blog but I suppose the main reason is that because I am fairly new to all of this, I had this annoying mentality that everything I was writing had to be absolutely perfect – perfectly written, perfectly cohesive and perfectly worded. As of right now, I am chucking this mentality out of the window because I want this blog to feel like my art diary full to the brim of my confessions! So today, I want to talk about my favourite masterpiece of all time: My Bed by Tracey Emin.

I have had the privilege to see a lot of art in my teen years and I have loved so many paintings, drawings, collages, photographs, sculptures, installations and performances. However, nothing has quite made me feel the way I felt when I saw Tracey Emin’s My Bed for the first time at Tate Britain in 2016.

That exciting day was full of firsts: my first school trip to London, my first visit to Tate Britain and the first time my eyes had laid on the works of the icon, the queen of confessional artwork, that is Tracey Emin. If you haven’t heard of her, where have you been? Living under a rock? I call her an icon for a reason. Emin creates works that are so evocative, so raw and SO honest, they never fail to stir the inner whirlpool of your soul. Controversial, but inspiring, provocative, but beautiful, shocking, but necessary.

Exhibited first in 1999, My Bed is Emin’s former bed. That’s it. That’s the piece. So, why, you ask, is it so spectacular to me that it remains my favourite work of art 5 years on?

Sinking into the deep realms of a depressive episode, Emin stayed in her bed for four days straight, eating and drinking nothing but alcohol. She was in a literal pit of misery, and when she eventually plucked up the courage to pull herself out of it, she turned to see what she had created and was horrified. Condoms and cigarette butts littered, empty vodka bottles and pill packets toppled over, period-stained clothing on the sheets, crumpled tissues dotted around like they were decorations and a cold pregnancy test. It is a sight of gutting heartbreak and depression, presenting one of the hardest periods of the artist’s life.

So what did she decide to do with it all? Put it slap bang in the middle of a gallery.

I had never seen anything like this before in an art space. I was confused and bewildered, overwhelmed at the mess that laid before me. The room where it sat was empty when I walked in, allowing for an eerie ambience to swallow me up whole. As I made sense of what I was seeing, my eyes darting from each taboo object, I experienced something that felt so strange to me at 15 years old. I could imagine the scene, I could imagine the misery and pain that accumulated this mess, I was able to resonate with Emin through this piece. It was heartbreaking to look at and impossible not to empathise with how she must have been feeling during those 4 days.

Then, I glanced up from the debris and noticed that sitting about 6 ft away from the bed, stood idly a packed suitcase and bag. I cried.

Yes. You read that right – I cried in the middle of Tate Britain. Those packed bags, placed so neatly and distanced from the ‘bed of death’ felt so incredibly symbolic. Symbolic of Emin leaving that period of her life behind, packing up and never looking back. A period of the past. It felt like a breath of relief to see those bags, a sign of inspiration, that no matter how hard it gets you have the ability to move past it. Phwoar, the symbolism is real.

It is an infamous piece and has sparked so much conversation, as it should. I personally find it so influential because it highlights real symptoms of having a mental health disorder – unable to get out of bed, zero motivation, returning to bad habits, creating mess upon mess and not being able to take care of yourself. Emin has commented quite frequently on this masterpiece of hers, opening up about the sadness she feels when installing it in different galleries; “I am going into a time capsule of my past. All of the things that are around the bed no longer relate to my life at all. The contraceptive pills, the condoms, the small knickers, even the belt that was the size of my waist. The idea of being with someone and not being with someone and how much life changes.”

It is so real, so incredibly raw. Tracey Emin has said herself that the bed is not a viewing platform, but an experience. She states that art isn’t for looking at – it is for feeling. My Bed definitely resounds with that. Everyone I Have Ever Slept With 1963-1995 (1995) and All for You (2014) are some other works of Emin’s that I am in awe of.

Looking at the postcard of the installation on my wall, I feel a lot of nostalgia. I remember experiencing My Bed like it was yesterday, not 5 years ago. I think that was the day I realised the extent of art’s power, and why it is so important. It has the ability to convey so much, with so little.

So there we go art junkies! You now know my favourite artwork of all time. I wonder what work I will come across that will take My Bed‘s place, IF any! I highly recommend looking into Emin’s work, especially if this is the first time that you have come across her – she is fantastic!

I hope you are having a fabulous Monday and I will see you in the next confession. Sending my love from your dearest art junkie,

Bryony