Read More Here: "Absolutely everyone has heard of Tracey Emin. In an age when, I’m told, everyone wants to be a celebrity, famous for at least 15 minutes, her renown alone is a huge achievement. So is her capacity to shock. At a time when most artists long to cause distress, in the teeth of public indifference to everything they serve up, however unspeakable, Emin is able to confront us with, among other outrages, her unmade bed. Included in her current Edinburgh exhibition, it can still shock some.
She repeatedly assaults us with words and images from which, if shown anywhere but in an art gallery, the most liberal members of the local Neighbourhood Watch committee would feel obliged to protect us. Parts of Emin’s autobiographical ramblings would surely count as pornography if read in the backroom of a dirty bookshop rather than framed and hung on the walls of a distinguished national gallery. (Listen, for example, to the commentary to the film called Why I Never Became a Dancer.) And some of the titles alone must be startling not only to me. As this is a family newspaper, I won’t write them out, but Emin makes free use of the c-word, glowing brightly in neon."
Sunday, 10 August 2008
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