STO RY KIŠA LALA / P H OTO G R A P H Y DAVID EUSTACE
OUR ARTIST ONCE ENFANT TERRIBLE, NOW NATIONAL TREASURE, TRACEY EMIN STILL DOESN’T DO INSIPID.
I
t seemed quite natural, 15 minutes into my phone conversation with Tracey Emin, that though we had never met before, she was talking about her uterus. Her confessional relationship to the press and her voluble intimacy—so uncharacteristic of what it means to be tight-lipped and British—is what divides and incenses her public. Yet her candidness is arguably her most potent quality. Unlike artists who confront their audience while remaining emotionally distant, Emin’s work remains courageously raw. This unusual openness has made Emin, or “Our Trace,” as she has been monikered by the UK press, something of a national treasure. Having shown at the Royal Academy of Arts and the British Pavilion at the 2007 Venice Biennale, she now has her own room of drawings at the Tate. It’s not unimaginable she may become “Dame Tracy” in the not too distant future. Yet this affection was unimaginable in the not too distant past. 46