Issue link: http://papercitymagazine.uberflip.com/i/934095
58 IN APRIL, MTV RE:DEFINE WILL HONOR BRITISH ARTIST TRACEY EMIN FOR HER GROUNDBREAKING WORK AS AN ART-WORLD PHENOM AND PROMINENT AIDS PHILANTHROPIST. WHILE TOGETHER IN MIAMI DURING ART BASEL, DALLAS CONTEMPORARY DEPUTY DIRECTOR AND CHIEF CURATOR JUSTINE LUDWIG AND EMIN SAT DOWN TO CHAT ABOUT WHAT IT MEANS TO BE AN ARTIST, THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN CREATOR AND CREATION, AND THE ARTIST'S DIALOGUE WITH ART HISTORY. The moment when you knew you were an artist. In 1997, when I had my show at the South London Gallery. Even though I'd shown with Jay [Jopling] in 1993, my show at the South London Gallery was the time when I walked in — first of all, I couldn't walk in, because there was this really big, long queue that went all the way down the street — and I thought, 'Oh my god, maybe I'm here early? What's happened?' I didn't understand. People were queueing to get into my show, and then when I got in, there were paparazzi and cameras and thousands of people; it was packed. And I thought, 'Oh, wow, this is what it's like to be an artist. I've arrived.' Because, you can be an artist. You can make art. You can have profound thoughts, but if no one sees your art, it doesn't work, does it? REBEL YELL PORTRAIT RICHARD YOUNG I remember the first time I saw a reproduction of Everyone I Have Ever Slept With. It had such a profound effect on me because you present such radical intimacy. This seems inherent in your practice. It's been like that all my life. I've never been some neo-conceptualist. I've always made really personal work. Always about first experience. Do you see a division between you and your work? It's totally intertwined. But there is a difference because, in fact, I'll edit things. I have to edit. I can't just spew out everything; otherwise, it wouldn't be art, would it? It wouldn't be. There has to be an intellectual pursuit about it. There has to be a dialogue. There has to be a challenge with my mind. Even if it is a cathartic experience with myself, I still have to be aware of that. Otherwise, it would be outsider art, wouldn't it? And it's not. You've established a unique language. And text plays an important role in your work. How did you develop this mode of poetry? I write at least a couple thousand words a week. Every week. I have always written and when I was younger, I had a diary. I love writing. I didn't start reading until I was 17, and then I read a book a week until I was about 26. That's a lot of reading for someone who doesn't read, really. And the same with the writing. So, once I understood that I didn't have to play by other people's rules — if you can read slowly, then that's fine, and if you write fast, and you can't spell and you have no sense of English grammar, that's fine too. The first book you picked up? I was ill, and my mom gave it to me. It was a book on Greta Garbo. After that I read David Nivens' The Moon's a Balloon. I went for the whole of Hollywood — even Cecil B. DeMille. I got onto directors and everything, then I made a quick leap to Dostoevsky and to Kafka and whatever … That's a big shift. Yeah, well, I didn't know books like that existed. It completely changes the way you look at the world. Totally, and especially when you're 17 or 18, it's like, 'Wow!' It's just like a giant sort of way of seeing and getting inside of someone else's mind and understanding how someone else thinks. So, you take a leap out of yourself. It's essential. And when Tracey Emin in her studio, London, January 2016