BLOOD JUST SEEMS TO POUR

MOST MORNINGS I wake up very early, around 5 AM. I sleep with a tube that’s attached to me and a bag full of urine. Sometimes the tube becomes unattached, and I’m engulfed by a tsunami of piss. This usually depresses me. 

On a good morning, I’ll roll over and slide my arm into the warm cozy fur of my little cat Teacup. She always sleeps on the pillow next to me, waiting for her morning cuddle, while her brother, Pancake, protects me from the bottom end of the bed, wrapping his soft gray velvety paws around my feet. 

I wake up early, but I rarely get up early. I lie in bed for as long as possible. I work in bed, I think in bed. But most of all, I rest. 

I rest as much as possible because I spend most of my waking hours being tired. My body feels like it’s been crushed. Stamped on. Trampled. Smashed. Broken. 

It hurts. Most days I wake up in pain. And most days I bleed.

We all bleed, we all cry, we all leave the stains of our lives behind. We take nothing with us—hopefully not even the pain. 

—Dame Tracey Emin 

August 8, 2024 

“Tracey Emin: I followed you to the end” is on view through November 10 at White Cube Bermondsey, London.