Meeting The Bed

On Monday 20th July I said goodbye to my mum and dad and caught the 11:19am train down to London via Grantham, to spend time with my brother Jamie who is currently living down there.

As the course was coming to an end, Martin suggested that we should try and go down to London during the Summer holidays to see the famous 'My Bed' by Tracey Emin, as we both share an interest for the piece. 

Unfortunately we don't think it's going to happen.

I felt quite bad going to see it, without sharing the experience with Martin but I knew a chance like this might not come again. 

Since being exposed to her creation earlier in the my foundation course, it has made me think about the possibilities of art and what it can actually be. The concept of 'My Bed' intrigued me and still does to this day. 

After watching this I knew I had to go to Tate Britain to experience it in the flesh, in all it's glory.

As soon as Jamie and I arrived we checked the map to see where the bed was located and set off. I excitingly went around the Tate observing the other pieces of work on display, until Jamie called my name. I turned around the corner to see a room containing two paintings by Francis Bacon, a collection of Tracey's life drawings and of course, 'My Bed'. 

 I kept closing my eyes and reopening them, trying to capture my immediate reaction. I couldn't believe that I was seeing the bed in a 3D form, through my own eyes instead of seeing it through photographs and screens. 

I felt like I was meeting a celebrity. Is that a good or bad thing to feel? 
The question that has been rattling around in my brain is 'Isn't everyone's bed just as important as this?' 
Your bed is a reflection of you.

A Bed is a personal piece of furniture, it's a place where you're most vulnerable.
  A bed is suppose to be a place of comfort, security.

As I stared into her environment I started to imagine things that have possibly taken place within the bed.

Sadness, loss of faith, misery, perhaps even happiness. 
Passion, love, sex. 
The act of intertwining yourself within the covers, maybe alongside someone.
Sweat, tears.
Dreams and Nightmares.

Also the surroundings.

The dry saliva surrounding her fag ends and bottles.
DNA everywhere, from tampons, condoms to used tissues and slippers.
From blood stained knickers and towels. 
Heaps of crumpled up tissues. 

I wanted to stand there for hours, observing every detail of this piece from every corner, gaining a new perspective with every turn, but I knew I couldn't due to time restrictions. Hopefully I'll be able to experience this again within the future.

 It was a privilege to of seen this piece of art.