Sometimes I Feel Lonely, But It's Ok

When I Am Ill Or Upset He Jumps Up On To The Bed To Curl Up Close Beside Me. But If I Am In Bed With A Hangover He Will Have Nothing To Do With Me.

Being An Artist And Having To Be Responsible For The Art That You Make Is Really Quite Challenging, And As You Get Older It Becomes More And More Difficult.

Criticism On My Works Is Like This: You've Worked Hard All Of Your Life, You Went To Oxford, And You've Done This And That, And You're An Art Critic. Your Job Is To Unravel The "secret" Or Whatever, And You Come Across An Entity Like Me. It's Going To Piss You Off. Because There's No Great Secret, What You See Is What You Get, And Anyone Can Understand What I'm Doing. So, It's Almost Like I Make This Critic-person Redundant, Just By My Attitude, And They Resent Me For That.

What's In Yesterday's Newspaper Is Today's Fish-and-chip Paper. If It Really Affects My Life So Badly, So Personally, Then I Would Do Something About It. When It's Really Out Of Order, Or Something Possibly Detrimental To My Family, Or I'm Driven To Such A Level That I Know That This Can Be Picked Up And Repeated Again, I Will Just Write Or E-mail The Newspaper Editor. So, In The Next Day's Newspaper, It Might Say, "tracey Emin Says This Is Factually Incorrect."

Strolling On The Plateau Of Life, Desperate For The Mountain, I Never Thought That I Would Get This Far. It's Only Art That Has Carried Me Through, Given Me Faith In My Own Existence. But Now I Am Approaching A Point In My Life Where I Desire More.