As a 26 year old in 2011, I have missed out on a whole lot of the meaning behind Tracey Emin's work the first time around. I remember her face on tv and in the media - she was hyped as a mouthy, egocentric YBA whose attempts at contemporary art were at best vulgar – key early works such as My bed (1998) complete with crumpled and stained sheets, and the infamous tent Everyone I have ever slept with (1963-1995) come to mind. I confess that I was more vulnerable to the opinions