hey Miss A,
You seem to know about this art caper.
Ive been snogin on Tracy Emin for a coupla weeks.
How long b4 I end up on a quilt or somethin?
The dude needs props.
yours
Big G
aka the clap
Tracey Emin, title is self-explanatory.
Dear Big G aka the clap
I am not sure how to express in writing an uncomfortable silence. However, that silence has provided me with the time to process your most peculiar turn of phrase and attempt to translate this into proper English. Thank you for providing me with the exposure to something altogether new and peculiarly ugsome.
I am a lady, and as such am a firm believer in the adage that one must ‘never kiss and tell’. With this in mind, your ability to freely proclaim your love-making attempts with this Miss Emin seems most insincere. This is worrying, for I am a fervent champion of the authentic. This leads me to believe the authentic feeling in your situation is solely to be on a quilt? Is that right? The kissing is not so important, the relationship is not so important, the emotion is not so important, but you are quite fond of quilting? N’est-ce pas? Is it cross-stitching, appliqué, or crochet, that fires your passions?
I actually know very little about ‘art’ bar my exposure to the piety of glistening white flesh and ecstatic rapture that adorned my hometown Cathedral. My competence is to be found in cool observation and rational analysis. That being said, I decided to sashay down to the reference library for a swift education in Emin and quilts. Lo and behold, my respect for the art of Gesamtkunstwerk and all, am I really forced into creating profundity myself given such paltry ingredients? I thought the exalted discipline of the arts was meant to do that illustrious work itself. Lamentably, the public parading of therapy is such a popular 20th century malaise, driven to grotesque proportions in the latter decades and beyond. It feels most uncomfortable to feel both saddened by the desperate celebration of self-loathing, while simultaneously suspecting I am a witness to Narcissus him/herself. The bright lights are certainly blinding.
‘Tis the age of self-indulgence and vanity; art in the name of cause célèbre. So, yes, little clap, you do need props. Best you get them yourself. Best you come up with some ideas and leave damaged millionairesses alone. You have moral turpitude on your side, so celebrity should not be too hard to find. Why I suspect you might already be smeared and appliqued into notoriety. Dignity and artistry though, might have escaped quite a distance along another path.
Don’t go spreading,
Yours,
Miss April
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