Tracey Emin ( * 2.1 Monoprints * 2.2 Painting * 2.3 Photography * 2.4 Neon * 2.5 Fabric * 2.6 Found objects * 2.7 Installations * 2.8 Films * 2.9 Books * 2.10 Sculpture

In the night on the kitchen floor we would lie outstretched listening to the lonely ticking of a time

I think about her sometimes, when I least expect to do so. Opening the refridgerator; she would hurry there for the cold milk. In the back-door gardens of England; her black tail would be moving like a sneaky snake in the grass, eyes darting from bird to bee, to me.

A toast to perfection, may she live long and with her mischief reign.

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