The Latest Breaking News from Tracey Emin

I came back from New York determined not to get the PEBs — for anyone not in the art world and unfamiliar with the term, PEB stands for Post Exhibition Blues.

The safety of the Parthenon sculptures was questioned after a high-profile theft at the museum was announced earlier this year

Every time I come to New York I cry. I don’t cry a little, I cry a lot. It doesn’t matter what I’m doing, who I’m with, if it’s hot or if it’s cold, thick snow or boiling humid, damp heat, I’m still going to cry.

Growing numbers of hobbyists are attempting to emulate the artist and capture the truths of the human body at life drawing classes

Yesterday I was in Brooklyn, I went to see my installation, Exorcism of the last painting I ever made, at the Faurschou Foundation.

Yesterday was the anniversary of my mum’s death. Seven years, and I remember every single detail like it was yesterday. The date, October 19, hangs over me like a giant bell. There’s a slow build-up where the bell gets lower and lower until finally it’s right on top of me…

I’ve never been able to cope with time, any kind of time. It’s why I’ve never been able to sit an exam and can’t get out the house for important events. In fact the more important, the later I will be.

Organisers are hailing the exhibition as “the most international to date”.

Back in the Nineties, I was accused of being a narcissist. Blindly myopic and self-obsessed. Thirty years later there is still no greater insult than to be called a narcissist in the cultural world. I’ve always used my life and myself as subject matter. I have never painted pictures, only…