By Rebecca Ceccatelli and Giulia Piceni. Cover photo: Tracey Emin, Sex & Solitude (2025) neon. Exhibition view: Tracey Emin. Sex and Solitude, Palazzo Strozzi, 2025. Photo Ela Bialkowska, OKNO Studio © Tracey Emin. All rights reserved, DACS 2025.

Tracey Emin sits there, calm and composed, with her small bag—the last remaining reminder of the squamous bladder cancer she battled two years ago. This bag serves as a survival kit of sorts, carrying everything she might need in case of an emergency. It stands as a quiet testament to human fragility, representing a body that first battled an illness and then learned to embrace its own vulnerability—as if her art had not always sought to expose the raw and fragile aspects of life.
She answers our questions with patience and warmth, exuding a maternal care directed not at a child but toward the world itself. It is disarming to witness her openness as she weaves her life experiences into her anecdotes, surrendering completely to both her art and the personal stories that have shaped it as she moves through the rooms of her latest exhibition at Palazzo Strozzi. Titled Sex & Solitude, curated by Arturo Galansino and running from March 16 to July 20, 2025, the exhibition offers a deeply personal journey into the artist’s exploration of vulnerability, desire, and the human condition.
Tracey Emin is undoubtedly a monumental artist—one of those names encountered in history books at university and never forgotten. Yet here she is, in the halls of Palazzo Strozzi, surrounded by her own works and responding to questions from a select group of students from Istituto Marangoni Firenze. To see her like this—fully human, fully present—feels almost surreal. She embodies the directness that defines her art, standing before the students not just as a legend but as a living presence.

Tracey Emin’s Sex & Solitude: A Powerful Exploration of Dualities and Emotional Depths

The title Sex & Solitude captures the essence of contrasting themes and opposing forces; the phrase, handwritten by Tracey Emin, greets visitors in a neon installation at the entrance of Palazzo Strozzi.
Sex and solitude are the central elements of the exhibition. Emin emphasises that this is not meant to be a retrospective of her work, although it does feature pieces from her entire career. Instead, it serves as a curated exploration of two opposing yet interconnected states: the experience of feeling completely together and entirely alone at the same time.
“Solitude is something that I like because I chose it,” she explains when asked about the exhibition’s title. She underscores that solitude can be both a source of suffering and a conscious choice. Throughout the show, the artworks are arranged to evoke distinct emotional dimensions in each room, each exploring the various ways in which sex and solitude intersect. This collection of pieces, presented across multiple mediums, ultimately forms an ode to this complex duality.

A Walk Through the Palazzo Strozzi Exhibition

A warm pink light envelops visitors as they ascend the final steps to the first floor of the Palazzo. The atmosphere feels like a radiant love poem, setting the perfect mood by immersing viewers in a soft glow. The explicit posture of the statue in the courtyard—an unmistakable representation of a reclining female body—becomes even more poignant when paired with words that conjure feelings of surrender and pleasure. And yet, the solitude remains.

Tracey Emin’s entire artistic practice leans on the spectrum of life, navigating its gradients and opposing forces that converge within the body—the ultimate battleground of this conflict. The body is central to her work, serving as the medium where her art is first manifested before being transcribed onto canvas, shaped into clay, or woven into blankets. Throughout her life, her body has experienced significant transformations, from the trauma of abortion, which she describes as the creation of a new soul through the merging of two others, to her recent confrontation with cancer—a force that threatened to take her own soul.

Art as a Tool of Healing and Self-Imposed Punishment

During the interview, the lighthearted tone that characterised her responses shifted dramatically when the topic of abortion came up. She was young at the time, and her grandmother had just passed away. For five years, she couldn’t bring herself to paint.

Her art then became a transcription of her life—a way to express her inner self and heal. In the second room of the exhibition at Palazzo Strozzi, there’s a reconstruction of the setting where she forced herself to paint again after her abortion. This installation, originally a performance staged in Stockholm, features authentic objects from that period: a bed, a dozen cans of beer, and buckets of paint ready to be thrown onto the canvases that filled her space. Clothes hang from a rope, while the walls bear the marks of a creative exorcism. This room embodies a turning point—not one where she discovered what kind of artist she wanted to be, but rather the kind of artist she did not want to become. It took her years before she was able to paint again.

From that moment on, her most significant works began to emerge—many of which are featured in the following rooms. For Tracey Emin, painting is a form of complete exposure, which is why many of her canvases are layered over multiple applications, each dictated by instinct and raw emotion. Her work includes varying canvas dimensions, yet her signature colours—burgundy, deep blue, red, and pink—remain consistent, with streaks shaped by vigorous strokes that mirror her emotions. Many of her pieces explore themes such as sex, masturbation, and contemplations on the naked body, expressing the intensity of desire, intimacy, and self-discovery.

Text and Drawings Transformed into Raw Confessions

Sometimes, her brushstrokes transform into words and phrases—raw confessions drawn straight from the pages of a diary: “I wanted you to fuck me so much I couldn’t paint anymore”, Hurt heart.” At other times, these phrases evolve into longer reflections, stitched into fabric: “I do not expect to be a mother, but I do expect to die alone.”

Text is everywhere, appearing not only within her paintings but also in sculptures—some serving as pedestals for words to take physical form. In a series of white blocks, text is engraved, and in neon lights, words glow in rooms otherwise enveloped in darkness. Even in their absence, language remains inseparable from her art, emphasised by evocative titles: “Not Fuckable, There Was Blood, I Held Your Heart, Always You, Take My Soul.” These phrases stand as fragments of poetry, deepening the meanings of the often abstract yet visceral imagery.

Palazzo Strozzi: Tracey Emin’s Breakthrough Moment and Final Sprint

The exhibition unfolds as a continuous sequence of works—sculptures, paintings, and embroidered quilts—guiding viewers through shifting emotional landscapes, moving from one solitude to another, including the solitude of sex.
One anecdote lingers in the air. Tracey Emin recalls stumbling upon a clairvoyant’s studio while travelling. Trusting her instincts, she stepped inside for a consultation. As an artist, she understands the solitude of the creative path—the uncertainty and the need to keep moving forward without knowing where it will lead. Sometimes, the idea that destiny holds something ahead is the only comfort.
During the consultation, she asked about her future, and the clairvoyant told her that a breakthrough would come in Italy. “In 1995, I did the Venice Biennale, but I feel like this is the show that will truly be a turning point in my career.” She is convinced of it. This moment feels like the peak—the culmination of years of work, the long-awaited breakthrough. As she reflects on it, she is reminded of her younger self, sprinting through cross-country races. “I was an awfully good runner. I didn’t even have the proper gear, but I was still fast.” She remembers dashing across fields, keeping pace—even while smoking. Once, in school, she was asked to sprint two laps as fast as possible. She did it despite her smoker’s lungs.
Now, she finds herself in a similar place: the final sprint, the last push. Because after everything, the greatest satisfaction comes from reaching the finish line—and perhaps knowing it was always meant to be.