Dear Tracey... eeeeeverybody hates you.

I'm getting a little bored of having the odd one-minute-long rant, often to myself inside my head, about you, so I'm just going to have one gigantic, seminal rant, right here, that I can refer people to in future if they ask what I think of Tracey Emin.

You get upset when people take the piss out of your accent? Well here's the deal. I am not taking the piss out of your accent, or the fact that you were abused, or even the fact that you constantly look pissed. We are all imperfect. Get over it.

My problem with you is that you have this huge arrogance about everything. Almost all the answers in this BBC Q&A article are either patronising, just plain don't make sense, or are contradictory. "Are you going to be producing any more Christmas cards?" "No, I'm not going to... I will be doing a Christmas card next year of my local church." MAKE UP YOUR MIND.

Also, a filthy unmade bed IS NOT WORTH THOUSANDS AND THOUSANDS OF POUNDS. If it was, I could just sell the contents of my bedroom and never work another day in my life. However, even for the money, I would think twice, because I have some dignity (people who know me, cease your laughing), and frankly would not want to show off any stains. I mean, congratulations, you have bodily fluids, which occasionally escape the confines of your body, and you don't clean them, instead seeing the perfect opportunity to make a quick forty grand! Clever you. Personally, I like to think that people who have any knowledge of me at all are able to deduce on their own that I menstruate, I own a bed, I occasionally drink, and have a sex life of some description, without being presented with the evidence - and that people who don't have any knowledge of me at all just don't care, and certainly wouldn't queue to get into a gallery to examine the evidence for themselves. If there are people out there who would actually do this - well, frankly, they are clearly Tracey Emin fans, and as such I find them slightly disturbing.

Still on the subject of the bed, I don't quite see how it's considered feminist. I wasn't entirely sure, but apparently, feminism is about having the right to be a complete skank and make stupidly large amounts of money from it. Hmm. Interesting. (Lucy... any thoughts, from an educated perspective?) Seriously though, what is it supposed to say? "I have a vagina. You can have sex with it, if you wear one of these, and sometimes it bleeds, which looks a lot like this. It really is very interesting. You will also notice that, although I am a woman, I sleep in an actual bed (albeit an awfully dirty one), as opposed to on a pile of hay on the floor! Clearly I am equal to a man. I am woman, hear me roar!" (Perhaps more appropriate would be "I am Tracey, hear me make common-bodily-function noises.")

Honestly the most positive thing I can think of to say about your work is "She's ok at sewing, I guess." Perhaps you should have stuck to fashion? Although I dread to imagine the kind of thing you would have come up with. Perhaps a hat resembling a used condom? Lovely.

You also said of some nude self-portrait drawings, "I wanted to show that I can really draw, and I think they're really sexy drawings." Let's see what she's talking about: click here.
An example of really being able to draw? The pinnacle of human sexiness? You decide!
Jessica Rabbit was an example of 'being able to draw' and she was a hell of a lot sexier than that. I guess that wasn't "art", though, was it, because it wasn't prompted by years of psychological trauma and abuse, etc etc.

Also, not that I have any involvement in the art world at all, and not that I consider myself patriotic - I certainly don't - but the following quote makes me feel frankly embarrassed at how Britain chooses to represent itself to the rest of the art world:
"Work in progress for [Emin's] 2007 show at the Venice Biennale includes large-scale canvases of her legs and vagina."
Of course. This is obviously the way in which a country which apparently prides itself on its dignity and modesty wants to portray itself to the rest of the world. Silly me.

In the sketch-show that is my brain, there is a sketch featuring Tracey Emin going through her day to day life and proclaiming everything she does 'art'. Allow me to subject you to a sample.

[Spits toothpaste into sink.]
"Art!"
[Removes hair from hairbrush; leaves it on the floor.]
"Art!"
[Eats some cereals; spills them on the table, dripping onto the floor.]
"Art!"
[Goes for a walk; encounters some tramp vomit in a doorway.]
"Art!"

I frequently conclude this sketch/fantasy with a giant foot, a la Monty Python, coming down out of the sky and squishing Tracey Emin like a bug, followed by me popping into the scene and yelling "ART! BEAUTIFUL, BEAUTIFUL ART!"

Anyway.

In conclusion: a lot of people have been raped, had tough childhoods, had abortions, had bad relationships, grown up in poor areas, and, god forbid, experienced things a thousand times worse than the things you have experienced. And yet, I don't see many of them subjecting the public to a constant stream of egotistic, poorly thought out, pompously justified and hideously over-priced shit with an 'art' label tagged onto it.

Take a hint.

Thank you for your time.

(And for those who were wondering, the title is a reference to a Dylan Moran thing about bad housemates, the kind who leave notes about you drinking their coffee. "You start leaving your own notes. For instance: Dear Tracey - everybody hates you. Even people who haven't met you yet. Your mum called, just to say, she's so glad she didn't hear from you." Har har.)