Tracey Emin, once known as the enfant terrible of British art, has returned to the spotlight with a powerful retrospective at Tate Modern, offering visitors a raw and deeply personal journey through four decades of her work. The exhibition, titled Tracey Emin: A Second Life, opened on February 27, 2026, and will run through August 31, presenting an unflinching look at the artist’s evolution from notoriety to newfound gravitas.
For many, Emin’s name conjures up images of her infamous 1998 piece My Bed—a disheveled, intimate installation featuring soiled sheets, empty vodka bottles, cigarette butts, underwear, and condoms. According to BBC, the work was inspired by a period of sexual, drunken, and depressive turmoil in Emin’s life. When it was first shown at London’s Tate Gallery, it caused a sensation and was shortlisted for the Turner Prize in 1999. “Anyone could do that,” critics scoffed. Emin’s retort? “Well, they didn’t, did they?”
Fast forward nearly three decades, and My Bed has returned to Tate Modern on loan, after being auctioned at Christie’s in 2014 for more than £2.5 million. Emin, now 62 and recently honored as a Dame for her services to British art, reflected on how her relationship to the work has changed. In a candid interview with BBC’s Laura Kuenssberg, she mused, “If I made it today, it would be ridiculously tidy, with very, very beautiful sheets, very clean and very tidy. It would be so boring, actually.” She added, “My two cats, maybe a few love letters,” would now be found beside the bed, a far cry from the chaos of her youth. Luxurious bedsheets, she joked, are her “reward” for having survived such a tumultuous past.
The emotional resonance of My Bed remains potent for Emin. She admitted to being moved to tears seeing it back on display: “I think it’s because I nearly lost my life in that bed. That bed kept me alive. It’s not an affectation, it’s a real thing. When I got up from that bed and looked at it, what I saw, I was disgusted and repulsed at the fact that I’d been laying in it and then I realised that I shouldn’t be because it had been holding me and keeping me alive.”
Emin’s work has always blurred the line between autobiography and art. She was a central figure in the Young British Artists (YBA) movement of the 1990s, alongside contemporaries like Damien Hirst and Sarah Lucas. Her art, often criticized as narcissistic or self-absorbed, relentlessly mined her own experiences—her traumatic childhood in Margate, sexual assaults, her abortion, and later, her battles with depression and addiction. Yet, as Artlyst observes, what once seemed solipsistic has, in recent years, transformed into something far more universal and profound.
The turning point came in July 2020, when Emin was diagnosed with an aggressive form of squamous cell bladder cancer. The treatment was brutal: surgeons removed her bladder, uterus, ovaries, fallopian tubes, urethra, lymph nodes, and parts of her vagina and colon, leaving her dependent on a urostomy bag. The trauma of illness, coupled with the earlier loss of her mother and a failed legal battle over her London studio, prompted Emin to return to her Margate roots, seeking solace under what she calls the “loveliest skies in Europe.”
This battle with mortality has fundamentally altered Emin’s art. Her vulnerability and psychological pain took center stage in the exhibition The Loneliness of the Soul at the Royal Academy, where she displayed expressionist paintings influenced by Edvard Munch, Egon Schiele, and Joseph Beuys. There was a new emotional integrity—her work now grapples with existential questions of survival, loss, and the meaning of life in the face of death.
“I’ve feel now a duty to say a lot of things out loud, a lot, and to be fearless about it as well, because I think when you face death like that... you’re told that you’ve possibly got six months to live, you start thinking about your life,” Emin told the BBC. She also spoke openly about her regrets—smoking, and what she described as “the amount of sex” she had as a child and teenager with older men, now widely recognized as grooming. “If I’m talking about being abused as a child, if I talk sexually, if I’m talking about being [sic] teenage sex with older men - now it’s called grooming, right? It wasn’t when I was 14... If I’m talking about suicide, if I’m talking about depression, all of the abortion - all of these issues that I make work about are really relevant and really important.”
Emin’s later work, showcased in A Second Life, reflects this new phase. Bronze sculptures and pieces like Ascension (2024) explore her relationship with her body after cancer surgery, channeling a visceral power reminiscent of Rodin. The exhibition also features references to youthful sexual assault, abortion, and her cancer experience—each piece tightly curated to balance the confessional with the universal.
Her commitment to the next generation of artists is equally striking. After moving back to Margate, Emin founded TKE Studios, providing affordable workspace and an 18-month residency for painters. This philanthropic outreach is part of her growing legacy—a way of giving back to the artistic community that once gave her a lifeline.
At the opening of her Tate Modern retrospective, Emin called for Britain’s wealthy to support the continuation of free entry to national art collections. As The Independent reported, she reflected on her working-class upbringing and how free access to Tate helped her find her way into art. “I solemnly believe that art is one of the last good, really pure things we have in this world,” she said. Emin’s plea was simple: if you can afford it, buy a membership or donate. It could make “a hell of a difference.”
She also highlighted the tangible benefits of art, referencing a 2025 study from King’s College London showing that viewing original artworks activates multiple bodily systems and significantly reduces stress levels. In a world beset by uncertainty, art’s ability to foster empathy, support social activism, and promote well-being seems more vital than ever.
Despite her new status as a Dame and her battle scars, Emin insists the “rebel” in her remains. She’s outspoken on topics from immigration to the NHS, and she’s unafraid to challenge the rise of AI in creative fields, warning that it’s undermining truth in society. “Being creative and making art is a beautiful thing,” she told the BBC, underscoring her belief in the enduring power of human expression.
Walking through the final gallery at Tate Modern, visitors are confronted with the extraordinary journey of an artist who has turned suffering into transcendence. Emin’s paintings, rough and visceral, ask what it means to survive, to be alive, to move toward death with courage and honesty. As she puts it, “I paint, therefore I am.” Against the odds, Tracey Emin has chosen to live—and, through her art, invites us all to do the same.