there's something about trainwrecks that i find very captivating. courtney love, amy winehouse and tracey emin - i cannot help but be fascinated. much of emin's work speaks directly to women, both through its shameless use of textiles and needlework, and its journal-like abrasiveness. her tent everyone i have ever slept with 1963-1995 reads like the lists so many of us keep, detailing lovers and the like in order to preserve our memories, our lives. (hers is actually a literal recount of everyone she'd slept next to up to that point, including her grandmother and two aborted fetuses.) emin does not keep secrets, laying everything out on the line for us to digest. her love of the crass, her drunken antics (is she now sober?) and her prominantly displayed tits all keep the image going. i remember seeing her installation piece bed in london and being simultaneously attracted and repulsed by the stained sheets, empty bottles, cigarettes, condoms and blood-stained underwear. what's not to love?!
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