The Latest Breaking News from Tracey Emin

Growing numbers of hobbyists are attempting to emulate the artist and capture the truths of the human body at life drawing classes

Yesterday I was in Brooklyn, I went to see my installation, Exorcism of the last painting I ever made, at the Faurschou Foundation.

Yesterday was the anniversary of my mum’s death. Seven years, and I remember every single detail like it was yesterday. The date, October 19, hangs over me like a giant bell. There’s a slow build-up where the bell gets lower and lower until finally it’s right on top of me…

I’ve never been able to cope with time, any kind of time. It’s why I’ve never been able to sit an exam and can’t get out the house for important events. In fact the more important, the later I will be.

Organisers are hailing the exhibition as “the most international to date”.

Back in the Nineties, I was accused of being a narcissist. Blindly myopic and self-obsessed. Thirty years later there is still no greater insult than to be called a narcissist in the cultural world. I’ve always used my life and myself as subject matter. I have never painted pictures, only…

All this week I wanted to buy a tree. Today would have been my day but instead I’m sitting in bed with little Teacup by my side. She keeps puddy pawing the pink fluffy blanket that half covers us both, her little striped paws kneading away, making me feel cosy…

As Tate Britain opens a retrospective – replete with cigarettes, marrows and fried eggs – the former YBA extols the importance of being idle

Today’s the most content I have felt for a long time, sitting on a comfortable chair listening to the rain come down, Teacup sitting next to me, all curled up, her little pretty face made sweeter with her dreaming smile.

Fashion turn to the left

I received a message. It read,