翠西·艾敏 tracy emin翠西·艾敏 tracy emin翠西·艾敏 tracy emin
翠西·艾敏 tracy emin
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翠西。艾敏简历
Bad girl brought to book
翠西出生在伦敦,但在margate长大。她有个双胞胎兄弟。在翠西很小的时候他的父亲另娶然后抛弃了他们,这也造成了他们家往后的生活困境,也造成了翠西人生以后的一些事件如大约14岁的时候翠西不幸的被强奸了。最初,她在Maidstone学习艺术,这是她认为她人生最重要的一段时间,在那里她受到了Billy Childish的影响。接着她在伦敦皇家艺术学院获得了绘画系的硕士文凭。她同时的也受蒙克和希勒的绘画影响,虽然在过后她将最初所有的绘画创作都毁了,往Birkbeck深造学习哲学去了。
[attachment=94714]
翠西。艾敏简历
Bad girl brought to book
翠西出生在伦敦,但在margate长大。她有个双胞胎兄弟。在翠西很小的时候他的父亲另娶然后抛弃了他们,这也造成了他们家往后的生活困境,也造成了翠西人生以后的一些事件如大约14岁的时候翠西不幸的被强奸了。最初,她在Maidstone学习艺术,这是她认为她人生最重要的一段时间,在那里她受到了Billy Childish的影响。接着她在伦敦皇家艺术学院获得了绘画系的硕士文凭。她同时的也受蒙克和希勒的绘画影响,虽然在过后她将最初所有的绘画创作都毁了,往Birkbeck深造学习哲学去了。
From the Week of Hell '94 1995
来之地狱星期
80%-20% Canada 1997
Terribly Wrong 1997
完全错误 1997
Fuck You Eddy 1995
The Last Thing I Said to You was Don't Leave Me Here II 2000
我最后告诉你的是别把我留在这儿 ll 2000
This photograph is one of two naked self-portraits taken in a beach hut near Margate that Emin bought in 1992. She used the hut as a weekend retreat and enjoyed owning property for the first time: ‘I was completely broke and it was brilliant, having your own property by the sea’.
The photograph is reminiscent of the work of the Austrian painter Egon Schiele, whom Emin much admires; her pose recalls the vulnerable, dejected figure of a punished child.
The Perfect Place to Grow 2001
完美的成长地方
This work draws on the type of design common to beach huts that line the seafronts of Britain. It also evokes memories of garden sheds, typically found in middle-England back gardens.
这个作品描述了英国海岸线上常见的高脚棚屋,它也唤起了英国人后院里常见典型的花园凉棚。
The sound of cicadas emanates from the hut and at the top of the step ladder visitors are invited to peer through a hole in the door. The work is a homage to Emin’s Turkish Cypriot father who, according to the artist, is a fantastic gardner but a terrible carpenter. Emin’s father constructed the wooden trestle sitting amongst the potted plants.
蝉的声音从小屋里发出,观众可以从楼梯上方的门洞里偷窥室内。这是翠西对她土耳其父亲的一种敬意,据她说,她父亲是个喜欢幻想的园丁,一个很差劲的木匠。翠西的父亲亲手制作了那立在花盆中的脚手架。
May Dodge, My Nan 1963-93
我奶奶。may dodge
Hate and Power can be a Terrible Thing 2004
憎恨及权利可成为可怕的东西
Is Anal Sex Legal 1998
肛交是否合法?
Exploration of the Soul 1994
对灵魂的探测
Going to Crack 1997
'It's like a cleansing of my soul. It's not just getting rid of baggage or carnage. It's not that simple. Something actually happens within me.'
Several of the works refer to traumas, such as having an abortion or splitting up with her boyfriend. These painful events are conveyed with brutal simplicity and candour but, as she says, 'Being an artist isn't just about making nice things, or people patting you on the back; it's some kind of communication, a message'.
“这就像是对我灵魂的清理。并不只是像要摆脱一个行李或屠杀。不是那么简单,一些事情真的发生在我身上了。”
几个作品都涉及到创伤,如堕胎及和男友分手。这些痛苦的时间以残忍的直率和公正的方式转达,就像她说的:“做一位艺术家,不只是制作美好的东西,是一种交流,一个信号。”
Tracey Emin is one of the most prominent members of the generation of young artists that emerged in London in the early 1990s. Personal experience and artist production have always been intricately linked in Emin’s work, which is often unashamedly honest and designed to promote debate about basic human needs. She achieves this by relaying her own experience of depression, abortion, bereavement, alcoholism, and sex. Her everyday reportage seems to consists of joyful epiphanies followed by periods of self-doubt and isolation.
翠西 艾敏是90年代初伦敦出现的英国年青艺术家群体中最为卓越的艺术家之一。个人的经历和艺术作品在翠西的作品里杂乱的交叉,厚颜无耻的诚实和对基本人性需求争论的营造。她成功的转播了自己的忧郁、堕胎、丧亡、酒瘾和性的经历。她每一天的记录都似乎包含了由自我怀疑和孤立所形成的欢欣。
The works featured in this display cover the range of artistic forms Emin has used since the early 1990s: text-based works, sculpture, photography, video, drawing, neon and hand-embroidered blankets. Each individual work relays an intimate tale, the artist often including hand-written accounts or incorporating family memorabilia. Collectively they trace the development of Emin’s central fascination with story-telling.
作品里陈列了翠西自90年代初一贯采用的艺术形式:文字装置,雕塑,照片,录像,绘画,霓虹灯及手绣的被子。每个作品都接替了一个亲密的故事,她还时常加上手写的文字描述及家庭的大事记。它们全面的呈现了翠西主要的对说故事的迷恋。
While Emin’s practice is widely known to be bold and provocative, the work often proves surprisingly delicate and fragile. Emin’s intimate engagement with her materials and sensitive use of subject-matter conjures up a landscape of memories, evoking her upbringing in the seaside town of Margate and episodes from her adult life.
虽然翠西的实践被广大的认为是大胆和煽动的,但是作品里经常会出现意外的脆弱和精细。她的隐私及敏感制造了她对margate小镇上生活的回忆及她接下来一集一集的人生。
翠西 艾敏是90年代初伦敦出现的英国年青艺术家群体中最为卓越的艺术家之一。个人的经历和艺术作品在翠西的作品里杂乱的交叉,厚颜无耻的诚实和对基本人性需求争论的营造。她成功的转播了自己的忧郁、堕胎、丧亡、酒瘾和性的经历。她每一天的记录都似乎包含了由自我怀疑和孤立所形成的欢欣。
The works featured in this display cover the range of artistic forms Emin has used since the early 1990s: text-based works, sculpture, photography, video, drawing, neon and hand-embroidered blankets. Each individual work relays an intimate tale, the artist often including hand-written accounts or incorporating family memorabilia. Collectively they trace the development of Emin’s central fascination with story-telling.
作品里陈列了翠西自90年代初一贯采用的艺术形式:文字装置,雕塑,照片,录像,绘画,霓虹灯及手绣的被子。每个作品都接替了一个亲密的故事,她还时常加上手写的文字描述及家庭的大事记。它们全面的呈现了翠西主要的对说故事的迷恋。
While Emin’s practice is widely known to be bold and provocative, the work often proves surprisingly delicate and fragile. Emin’s intimate engagement with her materials and sensitive use of subject-matter conjures up a landscape of memories, evoking her upbringing in the seaside town of Margate and episodes from her adult life.
虽然翠西的实践被广大的认为是大胆和煽动的,但是作品里经常会出现意外的脆弱和精细。她的隐私及敏感制造了她对margate小镇上生活的回忆及她接下来一集一集的人生。
Monument Valley (Grand Scale) 1995-97
The intimate memoirs of one of the most acclaimed and controversial artists of her generation 'Here I am, a fucked, crazy, anorexic-alcoholic-childless, beautiful woman. I never dreamt it would be like this.' Tracey Emin's STRANGELAND is her own space, lying between the Margate of her childhood, the Turkey of her forefathers and her own, private-public life in present-day London. Her writings, a combination of memoirs and confessions, are deeply intimate, yet powerfully engaging. Tracey retains a profoundly romantic world view, paired with an uncompromising honesty. Her capacity both to create controversies and to strike chords is unequalled in British life. A remarkable book - and an original, beautiful mind.
这是一本翠西亲密的自传。“这就是我,一个fucked,疯狂的,厌食幼稚的酒鬼,一个漂亮的女人,我从来都没有想到会这样。”翠西的著作STRANGELAND(陌生的土地)是她的个人空间,在Margate(一个英国小镇)和童年之间,她的土耳其爸爸和她,她“私人而大众”的伦敦生活。她的文字包含了回忆及供认,深切动人有力量的隐私。翠西保留了她的浪漫以及不妥协的真诚。关于她的议论和情绪的挑拨在英国是无以伦比的。
Using experiences from her own life, Tracey Emin often reveals painful situations with brutal honesty and poetic humour. The personal expands to the universal in the way Emin takes a feeling about her life and forms it into a genuine expression of a human emotion.
这是一段翠西出席自己最新展览:当我想到性。。 的前后。
Tracey Emin arrives at the White Cube gallery, for her new show When I Think About Sex...
翠西抵达White Cube gallery,出席她“当我想到性。。 ”的展览。
Emin lives in Whitechapel, a short bike ride away from the White Cube gallery in Hoxton Square
翠西住在Whitechapel, 骑车的距离不远。
The artist is best known for the bed that she entered for the Turner Prize and a tent embroidered with the names of everyone she had ever slept with
她最为人知的是她获取特纳奖的床的作品以及她的帐篷和她刺上她睡过的人的名的刺绣。
She never sets out to shock, she explained at the opening of her latest show
她从未特意展出震惊,她在开幕式上解释到。
She said: "I wonder where people's morality or integrity comes from because there is nothing shocking about my work. I do not set out to shock. I set out to have a dialogue with myself"
她说:我在想人们的道德和真诚从那里来因为我的作品没什么好感到震惊的。我没有特意的去营造震惊,我营造了对自己的对话。
Emin's latest work includes paintings of herself nude...
翠西的新作包括了她的裸画。。
Her appliquéd blankets are also on display, but the new ones are more muted in their colours
她的经典床被也被展出,但是新的在颜色上显得更沉静。
Angel 2005, Neon 25 3/16 x 38 3/4 in. (64 x 98.5 cm) © the artist
Sleeping Wishing 2005, Gouache, watercolour and pencil on canvas 21 7/16 x 24 3/4 in. (54.5 x 62.8 cm) (incl. frame) © the artist
Sometimes I Feel So F***ing Lost, 2005 Embroidered blanket 97 5/8 x 78 3/8 in. (248 x 199 cm) (incl. frame) © the artist
Those who Suffer Love (I'm OK now), 2001- 2005 Appliqué, embroidery and monoprint on fabric and pen and pencil on paper. Poem: 63 7/8 x 33 9/16 in. (162.2 x 85.3 cm) (incl. frame). Text: 14 9/16 x 11 1/4 in. (37 x 28.5 cm) (incl. frame ) © the artist
The show is Emin's first major exhibition for three years and it runs until June 25
Tracey Emin arrives at the White Cube gallery, for her new show When I Think About Sex...
翠西抵达White Cube gallery,出席她“当我想到性。。 ”的展览。
Emin lives in Whitechapel, a short bike ride away from the White Cube gallery in Hoxton Square
翠西住在Whitechapel, 骑车的距离不远。
The artist is best known for the bed that she entered for the Turner Prize and a tent embroidered with the names of everyone she had ever slept with
她最为人知的是她获取特纳奖的床的作品以及她的帐篷和她刺上她睡过的人的名的刺绣。
She never sets out to shock, she explained at the opening of her latest show
她从未特意展出震惊,她在开幕式上解释到。
She said: "I wonder where people's morality or integrity comes from because there is nothing shocking about my work. I do not set out to shock. I set out to have a dialogue with myself"
她说:我在想人们的道德和真诚从那里来因为我的作品没什么好感到震惊的。我没有特意的去营造震惊,我营造了对自己的对话。
Emin's latest work includes paintings of herself nude...
翠西的新作包括了她的裸画。。
Her appliquéd blankets are also on display, but the new ones are more muted in their colours
她的经典床被也被展出,但是新的在颜色上显得更沉静。
Angel 2005, Neon 25 3/16 x 38 3/4 in. (64 x 98.5 cm) © the artist
Sleeping Wishing 2005, Gouache, watercolour and pencil on canvas 21 7/16 x 24 3/4 in. (54.5 x 62.8 cm) (incl. frame) © the artist
Sometimes I Feel So F***ing Lost, 2005 Embroidered blanket 97 5/8 x 78 3/8 in. (248 x 199 cm) (incl. frame) © the artist
Those who Suffer Love (I'm OK now), 2001- 2005 Appliqué, embroidery and monoprint on fabric and pen and pencil on paper. Poem: 63 7/8 x 33 9/16 in. (162.2 x 85.3 cm) (incl. frame). Text: 14 9/16 x 11 1/4 in. (37 x 28.5 cm) (incl. frame ) © the artist
The show is Emin's first major exhibition for three years and it runs until June 25
In 1974, Joseph Beuys did a performance called I Love America, and America Loves Me where he lived in a gallery with a wild coyote for seven days as a symbolic act of reconciliation with nature. In 1996, Tracey Emin lived in a locked room in a gallery for fourteen days, with nothing but a lot of empty canvases and art materials, in an attempt to reconcile herself with paintings. Viewed through a series of wide-angle lenses embedded in the walls, Emin could be watched, stark naked, shaking off her painting demons. Starting by making images like the artists she really admired (i.e. Egon Schiele, Edvard Munch, Yves Klein), Emin’s two-week art-therapy session resulted in a massive outpouring of autobiographical images, and the discovery of a style all her own. The room was extracted in its entirety, and now exists as an installation work.
1973年,博伊斯作了个行为表演叫:我爱美国,美国爱我,作品中他在一个画廊里和一只豺狼共处了7天时间作为和自然调和的象征。1996年,翠西把自己关在一个反锁的画廊里14天,里面放置了一些空帆布和艺术用品,为自己和艺术做个和解。
Me, my mum and her friend Margarete
我,我妈妈和她的朋友马嘉烈
这是一段出自翠西著作《Strangeland》的文字,讲述了她母亲和马嘉烈的一段暧昧的关系。
Tracey Emin in her studio
When I was 20, I went to Margate by train. I left my flat in Rochester, drunk and crying. All I took with me was a note and half a bottle of whisky. I staggered off the train, knowing not a soul in the world, or where I was, or where I was going.
The sky above was a deep blue. I sat on the harbour wall, staring at the lights. The clock tower struck 11. The black sea rolled by beneath me. I said, "Goodbye," and threw myself off the harbour wall, fully clothed, the note in my pocket.
I sank beneath the water and, like a cork, popped back up. The sea became my bed as I floated around for a while, a tiny part of this great world and more alive than ever.
Slowly, I swam to the harbour wall and hoisted myself on to the ladder. I climbed up it. And, in my sodden state, I walked away.
An ounce of gold
We both sat there - Victoria station - with cups of tea. She put her hands up to her face, covering her eyes, and said: "Tray, what are we going to do?"
I emptied out my pockets. I had £1.75. "It's all I've got," I said. "You have it." I told her to get some cigarettes.
"But you're in a hurry. You keep it, dear. Get yourself something to eat."
I looked at her. "Please, please, don't cry. I'll be all right."
She held my hand and said, "If only we could go home."
But where was home? I'd had no home for months now, and that had been nothing but a small room, with everything I owned crammed into it. An electric kettle, sachet soups and Pot Noodle.
I squeezed her hand. "We'll think of something."
She let go. She raised her hands to her neck, loosened her scarf and carefully removed her gold chain. On it hung a small gold bar, an ounce of gold. She placed it in my hands.
"Sell," she told me. She was crying.
I ran out of the station with the gold in my palm. I crossed the bus station. On the other side, crammed between the sandwich shops, a pawn-shop sign hung above a doorway, I walked in and handed over the gold.
"Twenty quid is the best I can do," the man told me.
"Twenty-five," I said.
'Sometimes, I used to say to my mum, 'Mum, you can tell me. Are you and Margarete lovers? You can tell me. Are you lesbians?''
有时候,我会问我妈妈:"妈,你可以告诉我。你和马嘉烈是情人吗?你可以告诉我的,你是同性恋吗?"
He checked and weighed it, then handed over the cash. I ran back to the station. She was still sitting there in a trance. As she looked up, I smiled and handed her the £25. She opened my hand and placed a £10 and a £5 note in the palm, saying: "I love you, dear."
As she disappeared into the London crowd, I felt alone again. But I understood her: I respected and admired her.
"And," I shouted above the crowd, "I love you. I love you Mum. MUM, I LOVE YOU."
The greatest love of my mum's life
I came in late. The flat was quiet. I opened my mum's bedroom door. She and Margarete were sound asleep, curled up close together like a little ball.
Sometimes, I used to say to my mum, "Mum, you can tell me. Are you and Margarete lovers? You can tell me. Are you lesbians?" My mum looked at me as if to say, "Don't be stupid."
Margarete used to phone my mum every day. Maybe three or four times a day. When she was drunk, she would phone my mum non-stop. They would speak to each other in baby German, calling each other Baby Rabbit and Love.
When I was 14, my mum sort of left home to live with Margarete.
Margarete was a psychiatric nurse. She lived in the nurses' wing of Friern Barnet mental hospital. Margarete was Austrian. When she was young, she married a very rich Jew. He was a lot older than her, and when he died he left Margarete everything.
Margarete didn't have much to do with her family in Austria. For years, her only real relationship was with my mum.
At first it was OK. In fact, it was fine. Even when Margarete got drunk and started calling my dad a dirty Turk and kind of flipped out of her head and became a blue-eyed fascist monster, it was still all right. My mum loved her.
Once when she came to stay, she got drunk and went missing. I had to go and find her. She was in a hotel, drunk out of her mind and crying like a little girl. I carried her home to my mum. That was OK: I always understood.
But in September of 1992, I was in a bad way and I went home to be with my mum. I'd had an abortion early in the year and I thought I had got over it OK - but I hadn't. You never do. I felt alone; I wanted my mum. I felt dangerous to myself, leaving a trail of destruction and chaos and emotional decay wherever I went.
So I went to my mum's.
Margarete was there. I was behaving like an out-of-control maniac. My mum said to me, "There, Tracey. Your eyes are flashing." I looked at Margarete - I hated her. I hated her. She demanded so much of my mum.
I said to Mum: "Either I leave or Margarete does."
It turned out that we both stayed, for three days, saying nothing to each other. My mum cried until I went back to London.
'Margarete had been a part of my life since I was 14 and deep down I loved her'
马嘉烈自我14岁就是我生活中的一部分,在我心深处我爱她。
She came to the station with me. She told me that Margarete was retiring from work and would move in with her until she found a place of her own. I told my mum: "As long as Margarete lives with you, I'll never come back to the flat."
Months went by. I never went to see my mum. Then, just before Christmas, I received a letter from her saying that Margarete wasn't very well. She was in a lot of pain and was having difficulty walking. "Please, Tray," she wrote. "Just try and be nice to Margarete for my sake."
I felt bad and guilty. I wrote Margarete a letter, explaining how I felt: how I was jealous, and probably always would be of her and Mum's relationship. I wrote that it was hard not to be the most important woman in my mum's life. But, I said, Margarete had been a part of my life since I was 14 and deep down I loved her.
It was just that I was jealous.
Margarete phoned me. She was coming to London. We arranged to meet at Victoria station. We both drank a pint of beer and, over an hour, we talked it all through. Afterwards, I took her to the platform to see her on to the return train. I hugged her. I was so happy. She was lovely, really. She asked if there was anything I wanted or needed.
I laughed and said: "Just remember me in your will."
As the train pulled out, she was waving through the window. I can still see her as the train curved around the track and disappeared.
I never saw Margarete again. Six months later she died of bone cancer - she died in my mum's arms. She and mum had been close for 16 years.
Actually, I did see Margarete one more time - in a dream. It was a funeral, for my mother. It was in an old school hall. Hundreds of people were there, sad and crying. Margarete sat at a table, wearing a sky blue nurse's uniform. She was very thin and her blonde hair was now white. She sat with her back to everybody. I entered the hall late.
Margarete stared up at me, blue eyes like diamonds. I knew she hated me but she said nothing. Her look said it all: she hated me.
I never understood: Margarete made no will. Her body was sent back to Austria and she left my mum
我,我妈妈和她的朋友马嘉烈
这是一段出自翠西著作《Strangeland》的文字,讲述了她母亲和马嘉烈的一段暧昧的关系。
Tracey Emin in her studio
When I was 20, I went to Margate by train. I left my flat in Rochester, drunk and crying. All I took with me was a note and half a bottle of whisky. I staggered off the train, knowing not a soul in the world, or where I was, or where I was going.
The sky above was a deep blue. I sat on the harbour wall, staring at the lights. The clock tower struck 11. The black sea rolled by beneath me. I said, "Goodbye," and threw myself off the harbour wall, fully clothed, the note in my pocket.
I sank beneath the water and, like a cork, popped back up. The sea became my bed as I floated around for a while, a tiny part of this great world and more alive than ever.
Slowly, I swam to the harbour wall and hoisted myself on to the ladder. I climbed up it. And, in my sodden state, I walked away.
An ounce of gold
We both sat there - Victoria station - with cups of tea. She put her hands up to her face, covering her eyes, and said: "Tray, what are we going to do?"
I emptied out my pockets. I had £1.75. "It's all I've got," I said. "You have it." I told her to get some cigarettes.
"But you're in a hurry. You keep it, dear. Get yourself something to eat."
I looked at her. "Please, please, don't cry. I'll be all right."
She held my hand and said, "If only we could go home."
But where was home? I'd had no home for months now, and that had been nothing but a small room, with everything I owned crammed into it. An electric kettle, sachet soups and Pot Noodle.
I squeezed her hand. "We'll think of something."
She let go. She raised her hands to her neck, loosened her scarf and carefully removed her gold chain. On it hung a small gold bar, an ounce of gold. She placed it in my hands.
"Sell," she told me. She was crying.
I ran out of the station with the gold in my palm. I crossed the bus station. On the other side, crammed between the sandwich shops, a pawn-shop sign hung above a doorway, I walked in and handed over the gold.
"Twenty quid is the best I can do," the man told me.
"Twenty-five," I said.
'Sometimes, I used to say to my mum, 'Mum, you can tell me. Are you and Margarete lovers? You can tell me. Are you lesbians?''
有时候,我会问我妈妈:"妈,你可以告诉我。你和马嘉烈是情人吗?你可以告诉我的,你是同性恋吗?"
He checked and weighed it, then handed over the cash. I ran back to the station. She was still sitting there in a trance. As she looked up, I smiled and handed her the £25. She opened my hand and placed a £10 and a £5 note in the palm, saying: "I love you, dear."
As she disappeared into the London crowd, I felt alone again. But I understood her: I respected and admired her.
"And," I shouted above the crowd, "I love you. I love you Mum. MUM, I LOVE YOU."
The greatest love of my mum's life
I came in late. The flat was quiet. I opened my mum's bedroom door. She and Margarete were sound asleep, curled up close together like a little ball.
Sometimes, I used to say to my mum, "Mum, you can tell me. Are you and Margarete lovers? You can tell me. Are you lesbians?" My mum looked at me as if to say, "Don't be stupid."
Margarete used to phone my mum every day. Maybe three or four times a day. When she was drunk, she would phone my mum non-stop. They would speak to each other in baby German, calling each other Baby Rabbit and Love.
When I was 14, my mum sort of left home to live with Margarete.
Margarete was a psychiatric nurse. She lived in the nurses' wing of Friern Barnet mental hospital. Margarete was Austrian. When she was young, she married a very rich Jew. He was a lot older than her, and when he died he left Margarete everything.
Margarete didn't have much to do with her family in Austria. For years, her only real relationship was with my mum.
At first it was OK. In fact, it was fine. Even when Margarete got drunk and started calling my dad a dirty Turk and kind of flipped out of her head and became a blue-eyed fascist monster, it was still all right. My mum loved her.
Once when she came to stay, she got drunk and went missing. I had to go and find her. She was in a hotel, drunk out of her mind and crying like a little girl. I carried her home to my mum. That was OK: I always understood.
But in September of 1992, I was in a bad way and I went home to be with my mum. I'd had an abortion early in the year and I thought I had got over it OK - but I hadn't. You never do. I felt alone; I wanted my mum. I felt dangerous to myself, leaving a trail of destruction and chaos and emotional decay wherever I went.
So I went to my mum's.
Margarete was there. I was behaving like an out-of-control maniac. My mum said to me, "There, Tracey. Your eyes are flashing." I looked at Margarete - I hated her. I hated her. She demanded so much of my mum.
I said to Mum: "Either I leave or Margarete does."
It turned out that we both stayed, for three days, saying nothing to each other. My mum cried until I went back to London.
'Margarete had been a part of my life since I was 14 and deep down I loved her'
马嘉烈自我14岁就是我生活中的一部分,在我心深处我爱她。
She came to the station with me. She told me that Margarete was retiring from work and would move in with her until she found a place of her own. I told my mum: "As long as Margarete lives with you, I'll never come back to the flat."
Months went by. I never went to see my mum. Then, just before Christmas, I received a letter from her saying that Margarete wasn't very well. She was in a lot of pain and was having difficulty walking. "Please, Tray," she wrote. "Just try and be nice to Margarete for my sake."
I felt bad and guilty. I wrote Margarete a letter, explaining how I felt: how I was jealous, and probably always would be of her and Mum's relationship. I wrote that it was hard not to be the most important woman in my mum's life. But, I said, Margarete had been a part of my life since I was 14 and deep down I loved her.
It was just that I was jealous.
Margarete phoned me. She was coming to London. We arranged to meet at Victoria station. We both drank a pint of beer and, over an hour, we talked it all through. Afterwards, I took her to the platform to see her on to the return train. I hugged her. I was so happy. She was lovely, really. She asked if there was anything I wanted or needed.
I laughed and said: "Just remember me in your will."
As the train pulled out, she was waving through the window. I can still see her as the train curved around the track and disappeared.
I never saw Margarete again. Six months later she died of bone cancer - she died in my mum's arms. She and mum had been close for 16 years.
Actually, I did see Margarete one more time - in a dream. It was a funeral, for my mother. It was in an old school hall. Hundreds of people were there, sad and crying. Margarete sat at a table, wearing a sky blue nurse's uniform. She was very thin and her blonde hair was now white. She sat with her back to everybody. I entered the hall late.
Margarete stared up at me, blue eyes like diamonds. I knew she hated me but she said nothing. Her look said it all: she hated me.
I never understood: Margarete made no will. Her body was sent back to Austria and she left my mum
Tracey Emin: My Bed
Emin was shortlisted for 1999's prize
1999年特纳奖得奖作品:我的床
Sad Shower in New York 1995
在纽约的伤心沐浴
近照
"It's quite strange being an artist. I live a life of constant contradiction. One is that I have to spend a lot of time alone and I actually enjoy my own company, and the other I need a good flow of stimulation. I do not sit around and wait for the next revelation
“当一名艺术家的感觉是奇怪的。我生活在矛盾的一生中。第一是我经常必须单独一个人而我确实喜欢这样单独,第二是我需要不断的刺激,我不会坐在那边等着下一个启示。
"It's quite strange being an artist. I live a life of constant contradiction. One is that I have to spend a lot of time alone and I actually enjoy my own company, and the other I need a good flow of stimulation. I do not sit around and wait for the next revelation
“当一名艺术家的感觉是奇怪的。我生活在矛盾的一生中。第一是我经常必须单独一个人而我确实喜欢这样单独,第二是我需要不断的刺激,我不会坐在那边等着下一个启示。
Interior view of Emin's Everyone I Have Ever Slept With
People think the names are of Emin's sexual partners, but included are her mother and other family members, childhood friends and adult companions, as well as lovers and her unborn foetus, which was aborted.
这种对她私人生活的洞察已经不是很新鲜了。当然她频频的用着一种自传的方式。她最为有名的作品《我从1963年至1995年里睡过的人》,是个绣上她睡过的人的名字的帐篷。包括了她的性伴侣,她童年时同睡的亲戚,他的双胞胎弟弟,以及被她打掉的两个孩子。虽然时常被论为这是她无耻的性征服表现,但这更是一种普遍表示亲密的作品。作品中间的针织文字被她往后在其他作品上重复的利用了很多遍
1994年,她在伦敦最重要的画廊White Cube画廊举办了她的第一个个展。展名叫着“我的重要回顾”,这是个典型的自传,其中包括了她的个人照片,被毁的绘画和一些一般艺术家都不会愿意拿出来展出的东西,如一包她叔叔在车祸中头被斩断时手握的一包香烟。这个展示自己私人生活的意愿在后来也成为翠西的一个商标。1995年,她的作品《我从1963年至1995年里睡过的人》参加了Minky Manky在她未来男友负责的South London Gallery 的一个群展。
虽然这些事件造就了翠西在艺术圈内的名气,但是她最为被大众认识的事件是在1997年出现在Channel 4(第4台)的电视节目中的表现。那是个表面上非常激烈的辩论,翠西当时完全是醉醺醺的(部分原因是因为她服食了为减去她断指疼痛的止痛药),她重复的在说她要回家回到母亲身边。
虽然这些事件造就了翠西在艺术圈内的名气,但是她最为被大众认识的事件是在1997年出现在Channel 4(第4台)的电视节目中的表现。那是个表面上非常激烈的辩论,翠西当时完全是醉醺醺的(部分原因是因为她服食了为减去她断指疼痛的止痛药),她重复的在说她要回家回到母亲身边。
讨厌女权主义者的自怜
看完...
很有想法.
很有想法.
我用我的思想涂鸦
這跟女權主義沒有什麼關係,這是自由主義
[quote]引用第36楼guest于2007-4-3 2:12:29发表的:
這跟女權主義沒有什麼關係,這是自由主義...[/quote]
同意。
别歧视女性。
爱折腾事运气好点