Um, but no, seriously, I find Emin's work incredibly compelling and really easy to relate to. I think her Everyone I Have Ever Slept With 1963-1995 tent was brilliant, and I actually want to recreate something similar in my own apartment. I would like to take a huge canvas and paint the names of every person I have ever kissed (yes, I keep a detailed list–don't mock me, I'm a writer I need to record these kinds of things). Some names would be bigger than others, I don't know, I haven't really thought the project through yet. But I'd like to paint this canvas and then I'd like to hang it above my bed. Should be a good conversation starter for people whose names may eventually end up on the canvas. Though as Drew, my future roomie, pointed out: once you've got a person in your bedroom, one might assume the conversation has already started. But you know, maybe not. Either way I think it will be a great addition to my new home. Along with the historically Jewish American Girl doll, which will sit on our mantle.
What I'm trying to say is I love Emin's work and I think saying "we are never released from the pain of love" is poignant and sad and true. I wish I was in London to see Those Who Suffer Love. Instead I will go see Jenny Holzer's show at The Whitney. Because I can't miss London too much when I'm returning to New York on Sunday.
This post was rambley shambley. I love art, and powerful women artists, and London, and New York. That's all I was trying to say.