Preview: NS Interview with Tracey Emin

On Melvyn Bragg, her <em>NS</em> cover and voting Tory.

Tracey Emin had just woken up when I interviewed her over the telephone for Melvyn Bragg's guest edit of the New Statesman. She spoke from her house in the south of France, where she spends much of her time, enjoying its relative peace: "I haven't got any friends here; I can't speak French."

The work she produces there is different from the art she makes in London, she said, describing the nature that surrounds her as a mirror.

Her cover for the NS (which she agreed to do because "if Melvyn asked me to go to the moon and back for him I would") is, however, a political statement:

It's that art and culture are dead -- it's the state that Britain is in financially after 30 years of ill-considered government. The tragedy is that it's the arts that have kept Britain afloat during this fucking drought. And it's the arts which are the first things to get slashed.

Emin remained characteristically frank as she accused the Labour government of having been "appallingly shit" towards the arts, and Andy Burnham of being like a "philistine". Her loyalty in the 2010 election lay elsewhere:

I voted for the Conservatives. I live in a democracy; it's up to me who I vote for. And what I was voting for was a swing in politics. We've got the best government at the moment that we've ever had.

Emin also professed her admiration for Tory ministers: "This sounds really snobby, but within the Tory party -- Jeremy Hunt and Ed Vaizey -- they really know about art."

The interview also covered her work, the controversy she provokes, her celebrity and legacy (she has established a trust that will turn her east London studio into a museum on her death).

Emin seemed preoccupied by her longevity as an artist -- the importance of the work being remembered and looked after. But, as in her work, her vulnerability came across most strongly of all.

When I asked her what she would most like to forget (a question we put to all our NS interviewees), she said, after cigarettes, "I'd like to forget sometimes who I am." And when I asked why, she responded: "It's a lot to take on, isn't it?"

Read the interview in the magazine out now. A longer version will be published online on Monday.

ghjghghj

Sophie Elmhirst is features editor of the New Statesman

Photo: Getty
Show Hide image

Moss Side Public Laundry, 1979

A new poem by Pippa Little.

Childless I arrive with a rucksack,
own no Silver Cross steered topple-high
by the bare-legged women in check coats
and bulging shoes who load and unload
ropes of wet sheets, wring them out
to rams’ horns while heat-slap of steam
dries to tinsel in our hair, frizzles our lips
gritty with Daz sherbert dabs and the mangle,
wide as a room-size remnant, never stops groaning
one slip and you’re done for…

In the boom and echo of it, their calls swoop
over Cross-your-Hearts, Man. City socks,
crimplene pinks and snagged underskirts,
Maggie Maggie Maggie Out Out Out! blasts
from across the park, whole streets
get knocked out like teeth,
in a back alley on the way a man
jumped me, shocked as I was
by the fuck off! I didn’t know was in me

but which I try out now to make them laugh, these women
who scrub blood and beer and come
with red-brick soap, quick-starch a party dress
while dryers flop and roar
before their kids fly out of school,
flock outside for a smoke’s sweet rest
from the future bearing down of four walls and one man.

Pippa Little’s collection Overwintering (Carcanet) was shortlisted for the Seamus Heaney Centre Award. Her new book, Twist, was published in March by Arc. 

This article first appeared in the 20 July 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The new world disorder