Femininity and Trauma: The Cathartic Appeal of Tracey Emin
*Content Warning: This article contains themes of emotional, psychological, and sexual trauma.
**Editor’s Note: Gendered references in this article are not intended to be heteronormative or to exclude non-binary identities; rather, these reflect certain autobiographical and confessional themes within Tracey Emin’s artistic works.
In the midst of ongoing changes we are seeing in our cultural perceptions of femininity—changes which challenge traditional representations of the feminine subject as discrete, emotionally sensitive, perennially desiring of another’s love, and so on—we women arguably possess a latent knowingness of something that all such representations universally share. This shared knowingness relates to the deep, and often-hidden layers, that underpin all faces of femininity—her conflicting narratives, her diverse geographical and generational expressions, and the fluctuating associations that are seen to empower or to disempower her. It is a deep understanding that needs no words to convey itself, namely a sense of there being an intimately inseparable connection between femininity and trauma.
Here, as individuals of different identities and beliefs, we share an implicit understanding of the femininity, in all her variations, that we may seek to reject or to conform to at various stages in our lives. This femininity may express herself through make-up, for instance, anticipating her objectification beneath another’s gaze, or in her preference for a certain colour scheme over another. More importantly, she carries, in her various guises, the omnipresent shadow of an embedded trauma which encompasses the painful memories, uncertainties, unfulfilled dreams, and unrealistic expectations that are forced upon us, and which we force upon ourselves, as we identify and express ourselves through life as the moving, life-representations of the feminine subject herself. Femininity, with all her internal and externally-ingrained pressures, essentially provides a vessel for an innate trauma as her hidden and intimate stowaway.
But what is this ‘trauma’ that I am referring to, which apparently occupies and haunts the ‘realm’ or ‘domain’ of the feminine? And what do I mean by their interconnectedness? By drawing upon provocative and emotion-laden themes within the works of the artist, Tracey Emin—raw and often conflicting layers of longing, abandonment, the anguishes of desire and of memory that almost always intimate a discernibly ‘female pain’[1]—I hope to uncover the frenetic interconnectedness between femininity and the trauma of simply being that we so intuitively recognise in her artwork. More specifically, I intend to explore how the consistent themes of femininity and trauma, both vessels occupying, and being occupied by, the other, resonate with the viewer across the broad spectrum of her works.
To me, Emin captures a tacit sentiment that occupies the rarely seen shadow-side to the ‘feminine soul.’[2] For instance, the intrusive selfie angles in her Insomnia Room Installation (2019) and the subtle brutality of the red and black brushstrokes that seem almost to desecrate a whitewashed canvas in You Held my Face (2018) provide, somewhat absurdly, a certain catharsis in which she forces us to confront the truth of a trauma that lies deep within us, as women and precisely because we are women. It is a trauma that belongs to us, often unspeakably so; it is our lived feminine experience(s) and Emin’s frank vocalisation of it through various media brings it to the surface to be relived, and eventually healed, as though we are undergoing a form of prolonged exposure (PE) therapy.
By exploring how Emin vividly discloses this traumatic shadow throughout her artwork and thereby elevates it to a position of unbearable visibility, as an essential co-equal to the femininity of her subject matter, I hope to grasp at something profoundly cathartic that this interconnectedness reveals. In my opinion, it reveals a frequently overlooked truth about the feminine journey, as necessarily entailing in the present a spiralling back or reflection upon those painful memories and experiences of the past so that we can move forward. Thus, while it may be easy for certain commentators to dismiss her confessional style as being ‘narcissistic’ or ‘deranged,’[3] to me such criticism in fact reflects what is so very cathartic about this truth, namely that beneath the ‘acceptable’ surface level of the feminine subject—comprising the physical characteristics and mannerisms she is expected to present—what is arguably most empowering about her femininity is her ability to give voice to this trauma. Emin’s honest expression of her feelings is therefore not mere superficial sentimentality, but rather our awakening to the complex layers that comprise the feminine subject herself.
The interconnectedness of femininity and trauma
I was first introduced to Emin’s work a few years ago when I watched her powerful documentary film, How it Feels (1996), in which she recounts the incredibly traumatic experience of having her first abortion in 1990. Leaving aside any moral debate about the perceived ‘rightness’ or ‘wrongness’ of abortion, what most struck me about her story was the candour with which she recalled her own experience and the intense, almost spiritual emotions that have since become forever embedded into her life path. There was something painfully human about her delivery, a relatability that was capable of cutting through the conflicting opinions that different viewers may hold on this topic to speak to them directly as beings equally capable of feeling this way. In simply explaining what it feels like to have an abortion,[4] Emin brought her latent trauma to the surface, thereby confronting but simultaneously soothing the viewer through a catharsis that was profoundly raw.
This elevation of trauma in its various guises, such as the humiliation of sexual exploitation she reveals in her documentary film, Why I Never Became a Dancer (1995), and the timelessness of grief at losing a parent she conveys in her painting, I Was Too Young to Be Carrying Your Ashes (2017-18), is a pervasive theme in Emin’s work. We see it differently expressed, in neon sculptures and using oil paint, for instance; however, what her depictions arguably share is their ability to capture snapshots of emotions that are deeply felt, but rarely vocalised, during our experiences of femininity. The trauma of femininity, and the femininity of trauma, are always revealed in her artwork to be intimately interconnected.
A backwards-looking spiral: genuine femininity as self-reflection
What I find most powerful in Emin’s presentation of her subject matter is how it represents her own journey of self-knowing through trauma, an inescapable binding of her present self to revisitations upon her past. In so doing, she presents the feminine subject in a somewhat unflattering light when assessed according to traditional expectations of her conduct and her self-expression: unlike the demure subject whose tears fall once, or at most twice, and whose sadness is easily consoled, she speaks loudly and graphically of her grief, ad nauseum. Thus, Emin avoids the inherent trepidation with which many individuals may choose to vocalise their trauma, fearing at all times their listener’s reaction—will they judge me, or tell people about me, or no longer want to associate with me, and so on? Instead, she empowers the feminine subject through the purposive embrace, as opposed to the obscuring, of a past that is expected to haunt her and of various suppressed emotions which only ever tend to genuinely express themselves in her dreams.
Through her well-publicised ‘marriage’ to a rock in 2016,[5] representing the culmination of a life-long search for the stability of self-love, Emin has arguably reached a stage of catharsis in her journey of a repetitive spiralling back upon the past. Having constructed her artwork and broader life path upon a constant reprocessing and reworking of past trauma—the memories, the feelings of loss and of longing, and so on—this event epitomises what is, in my opinion, a powerful message within Emin’s work, namely that only by accepting, as opposed to concealing, the traumas of her past, may the feminine subject embrace who she genuinely is in the present and thereby stand in her truth. Emin’s artwork and life thus reveal a fundamental and cathartic search for a femininity that is at her most genuine.
The transcendental nature of being: I feel you, I think of you, I dream of you
In her ongoing pursuit of catharsis, Emin frequently reworks the trauma of femininity through reflection upon the motif of the ‘other’ who typically occupies the position of an elusive, but powerful, ‘you.’[6] This ‘you’ we encounter in her Love is What You Want (2011) exhibition, for example, embraced in the retrospective warmth of hand-written phrases of neon, such as ‘I promise to love you’ and ‘You touch my soul.’ Therefore, by seeking emotional serenity through processes of continual reflection upon past trauma, Emin reveals not just femininity at her most raw and candid, but also an increasingly immersive engagement with the other.
‘I feel you, I think of you, I dream of you,’ becomes the increasingly transcendental message within Emin’s journey of self-reflection. Through her artistic works and her life journey she thus unveils deeply abstract, emotive layers to the feminine subject and her relation to the other, complex layers which the viewer intuitively feels, but can rarely vocalise.
Conclusion
There is something confronting, but also simultaneously cathartic, about Emin’s embrace of trauma. By rendering visible and tangible the often hidden, emotional complexities to the feminine subject in her artwork, she compels the viewer to reflect upon nuanced memories and sentiments within their own past. Through continually repeating this process of revisiting innate traumas, Emin’s journey of feminine expression arguably seeks, and eventually achieves, a more genuine and grounded self-understanding.
By rendering visible and tangible the often hidden, emotional complexities to the feminine subject in her artwork, Emin compels the viewer to reflect upon nuanced memories and sentiments within their own past. Through continually repeating this process of revisiting innate traumas, her journey of feminine expression arguably seeks, and eventually achieves, a more genuine and grounded self-understanding. Image source: It - didnt stop - I didnt stop (2019) by Tracey Emin
By drawing upon provocative and emotion-laden themes within Emin’s work—raw and often conflicting layers of longing, abandonment, the anguishes of desire and of memory that almost always intimate a discernibly ‘female pain’—I hope to uncover the frenetic interconnectedness between femininity and the trauma of simply being that we so intuitively recognise in her artwork. Image source: JOE KLAMAR / AFP / Getty Images
Emin’s honest expression of her feelings is not mere superficial sentimentality, but rather our awakening to the complex layers that comprise the feminine subject herself. Image source: Toby Melville / Reuters
We see it differently expressed, in neon sculptures and using oil paint, for instance; however, what Emin’s depictions arguably share is their ability to capture snapshots of emotions that are deeply felt, but rarely vocalised, during our experiences of femininity. Image source: You Love me like a Distant Star (2016) by Tracey Emin
A powerful message within Emin’s work is that only by accepting, as opposed to concealing, the traumas of her past, may the feminine subject embrace who she genuinely is in the present and thereby stand in her truth. Image source: Prudence Cuming Associates Ltd / The Artist
By seeking emotional serenity through processes of continual reflection upon past trauma, Emin reveals not just femininity at her most raw and candid, but also an increasingly immersive engagement with the other. Image source: Facundo Arrizabalaga / EPA-EFE
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Sources Cited
[1] Hettie Judah, ‘Tracey Emin Review - Brutal Portraits of Female Pain’ (The Guardian, 5 February 2019) <https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2019/feb/05/tracey-emin-a-fortnight-of-tears-review-london-white-cube-bermondsey> accessed 17 November 2021.
[2] Anna McNay, ‘Mad, Bad and Sad: Women and the Mind Doctors’ (studio international, 10 October 2013) <https://www.studiointernational.com/index.php/mad-bad-and-sad-women-and-the-mind-doctors> accessed 17 November 2021.
[3] Miranda Bryant, ‘Tracey Emin Claims she has been ‘Overlooked’ as an Artist’ (The Guardian, 30 October 2021) <https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2021/oct/30/tracey-emin-claims-she-has-been-overlooked-as-an-artist> accessed 17 November 2021.
[4] Lexi Manatakis, ‘Why Tracey Emin’s Work is so Intensely Personal, in her Own Words’ (DAZED, 7 February 2019) <https://www.dazeddigital.com/art-photography/article/43183/1/why-tracey-emins-work-so-personal-in-own-words-a-fortnight-of-tears-white-cube> accessed 16 November 2021.
[5] Alex Needham, ‘Tracey Emin: “The Stone I Married is Beautiful and Dignified - It will Never Let me Down”’ (The Guardian, 24 May 2016) <https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2016/may/24/tracey-emin-the-stone-i-married-is-beautiful-and-dignified-it-will-never-let-me-down> accessed 16 November 2021.
[6] Tim Adams, ‘Tracey Emin/Edvard Munch: The Loneliness of the Soul Review - a Meeting of Primal Screams’ (The Guardian, 6 December 2020) <https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2020/dec/06/tracey-emin-edvard-munch-the-loneliness-of-the-soul-royal-academy-london-review> accessed 17 November 2021.