Auntie Doris’s Great Works of Art #9: Tracy Emin – My Bed, 1998

Some people only do their art to shock, like him with his tins of shite. Tracy Emin is one of those as far as I’m concerned. Only she went to the effort of displaying her messy bed in art galleries all over the world, and apparently it’s worth over a million pounds now.
Well, million pounds or no million pounds, if that was my bed, I certainly wouldn’t be parading it about for all and sundry to be gawping at. Or if I was, I would have ruddy well tidied it up first. I would have washed the sheets too. The Lord alone knows what some of them stains are. I would have washed them knickers and tights too. And folded them up properly and put them away. Honestly. As far as I can see, the only people who would go paying millions of pounds for that sort of thing would be filthy ruddy men who like looking at women’s dirty undies. And I wouldn’t put it past them to do a bit more than just looking. They ought to be ashamed of themselves. And if that Charles Saatchi was here I would say it to his face an’all. Filthy so and so. I wonder what his wife said when he came home with that lot. Or did he keep it in the garden shed like my Raymond did with those magazines?
There was all sorts of stuff on the carpet next to it an’all, used rubber durexes, pregnancy testing kits, slippers, the ruddy lot.
Mind you, that Tracy Emin is a bit of a filthy hussy anyway. She knows no ruddy shame. For one of her other works of art she got a tent and wrote the names of every man she had ever had carnal relations with on it. Knowing her, I bet she missed a fair few out because she was so drunk at the time that she had forgotten who they were by the next morning.
My mother once had the initials of every man that she had ever had carnal relations with embroidered on a handkerchief, and then she gave him it for Christmas. He wasn’t impressed though. My father thought that having your initials embroidered on a handkerchief was nothing more than vanity. I would have loved to have seen his face if he ever found out that his name was in Tracy Emin’s tent. Not that it would be, unless she had ever had it off with someone who had the same name as him. Which is doubtful. Besides, he wouldn’t have found out because he wouldn’t have been seen dead within a mile of her ruddy tent. Not that he would have been, because although he died and got cremated years before she was even born, the bed has never been displayed anywhere near where his ashes are, which is probably in a cellar somewhere in the St Dymphna’s Hospital for the Criminally Bewildered. I reckon that if Tracy ever got hold of them could probably use them to make some sort of art work. Then they might fetch a bit of money for charity or something.

2 thoughts on “Auntie Doris’s Great Works of Art #9: Tracy Emin – My Bed, 1998

  1. Before I got “Nancy” the lap top dancer I wrote most of my book long hand in my bed, perhaps one day it will be enshrined in the Pulitzer Hall Of Fame, and worth millions..

  2. My daughter’s beds were far messier than that. Now they Were works of art, unlike Tracy Emins piece of crud. Just saying……clearly I missed an opportunity, as did every parent in the land! 😀

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