racey Emin is certainly known in America, but she’s
a household name in Britain. While many find plenty
to praise or blame with regard to her work, she has
nonetheless gained the ultimate showbiz imprimatur—a
relentless cadre of paparazzi. According to Dallas’ Kenny
Goss, “Even cabbies know who she is; everyone there knows
who she is. It’s the same with George (Michael). They follow
their lives and they stay with them because they’re literally
part of British history.” He should know. Goss and his
former partner, pop star George Michael, met Emin at the
spendy London restaurant, Ivy, after Michael had seen her
on a BBC documentary and was smitten. The couple went
on a hugely imaginative—not to mention preposterously
extravagant—buying spree and acquired a vast collection of
her work. Even now, when the subject of Emin comes up,
Goss becomes infectiously enthusiastic. And it’s easy to see
why. Emin has redefined what art can be and what a working-class background can mean. And, stunningly, she creates
work that readily connects to confessional literature that
spans centuries by giving it an utterly new, not to mention
startling, visual dimension.
While Emin spends a great deal of time in London, she
also periodically takes a working holiday near St. Tropez
where she has an idyllic retreat just half an hour from the
Mediterranean hot spot. Tucked away in the hills, it sits high
above the coastline and is as close to a vertical axis as you’ll
find on the Côte d’Azur; ironically, Emin, the oft-declared
“enfant terrible” provides an ascendant vector for an
otherwise playboy-infused, horizontal plane on the beaches
Tof the Riviera. By some accounts her French home/studio is urrounded by such sinuous roads and convoluted trails that even she has difficulty finding it on dark evenings. A mere
25-minute drive from Jerry Hall’s neighboring residence
can take Emin almost three hours by the time a circuitous
route is thoroughly driven, recalibrated and re-driven—
again and then again. One thing is certain: calling Texas
from her remote location requires a satellite phone as well as
conspiring planetary movements ruled by the gods in charge
of poetry, messages and communiqués.
While waiting on her call from the south of France, I did
a bit of research on what it might be like to talk with Emin
and ran across a chat between her and actress Joan Collins of
“Dynasty” fame. So much for research. I was certain Collins
and I have approximately zero in common since I’m short on
both bling and a bevy of ex-husbands. However, Emin and I
eventually connected and it was surprising to hear a voice on
the end of the line that was pleasingly, even shockingly, soft.
She said, “Hello, this is Tracey. Is this a good time to talk?”
I assured her it was a perfect time to talk and asked if she had
received my questions. (I, of course, had prepared questions
for the superstar of the art world.) The answer was “No, I
gave strict instructions not to be bothered.” Oh. That was
a game changer—but no problem. I went on to introduce
a bit of Q and A to someone who is basking in limelight
as a newly minted Commander of the Order of the British
Empire and enjoying a huge uptick due to the sale of her
work—My Bed, originally exhibited in 1999—to a German
Count. However, the aforementioned satellite phone was
Tracey Emin, Be Faithful to your dreams, 1998, neon, 15. 98 x 87. 99 x 2. 52 in. © Tracey Emin. All rights reserved, DACS 2014.
Image courtesy White Cube
