That Time Tracey Emin Liked My Work

I never thought things like this happened to people like me, but...

A while back I had a tutoring session with Brighton-based figurative artist Amy Dury (@amy_dury). She asked me to bring a reference photo to paint, suggesting I use the face of any artist I admire, so I brought along the splendid visage of Tracey Emin. Tracey's controversial work fascinates me, and I'd watched her episode of Who Do You Think You Are, so she seemed a good choice.

The session was beyond brilliant both for technique and confidence building (as I type, Amy's work 'The Mirror' is showing at the Royal Scottish Academy alongside a couple of nobodies called Munch and Rodin; yep, she's that good).

Our two hour session extended to three as we painted amiably side by side in her sunlit, paint-splodged studio. I produced the image of Tracey you see here.. Amy pronounced it 'painterly'. I blushed like a schoolgirl and went on my way full of intentions to smooth it out and finish it off.

In fact, I only returned to the painting months later, when, on a whim and in search of a #ThrowbackThursday image for Instagram, I posted it on my feed with some hastily assembled comments about it not being finished, forgot all about it and went to bed.

The first thing I saw next morning was a comment from my aunt saying 'I agree with Tracey!'

Eh?, I thought.

I clicked on to the other comments.

What. The. Actual.

Tracey Emin had commented! The actual real Tracey Emin, CBE, RA, you know? Her with the tent and the unmade bed and all the swearing and honorary doctorates and stuff.

She had written:

"This looks very finished to me. By far one of the better truer portraits I have seen of me. Often people use to much paint and remove all the light".

Well. I gulped, gasped, let out a sob, gasped again, and threw my phone on the sofa in disbelief . My partner thought from my reaction that someone had died.

'Whatever's the matter?!' he asked.

'TracyEminlikesmypicture!' I squeaked, too emotional for punctuation.

'What?' (he's a bit deaf).

'My picture. Of Tracey Emin. She liked it. On Instagram!'

I read out the comment and general jubilation began.

'Are you sure it's the genuine account, Mum?' My teenage son appeared from nowhere in his underpants to see what was going on.

Tense pause in jubilation while the account's blue badge was located, followed by resumption of cheers, crowing etc. And all this before breakfast.

I have no idea how, among the thousands of social media tags Tracey Emin must get every day, mine happened to find its way in front of her eyes that night. I will be forever grateful that an artist of her standing took the time to look at my work, let alone type such a thoughtful comment about it. That single comment has got me through those days that every artist has when they think they're rubbish; I might be thinking I'm rubbish, but at least Tracey Emin doesn't.