Tracey Emin’s drawings are neither coy nor anatomically precise. They often appear spontaneous, even fragile, as if the hand that made them was too close to the feeling to slow down. Their erotic charge comes from immediacy rather than idealisation, the body as lived. They communicate the sensation of being in a body that wants and hurts, not a body to be looked at, and this difference is crucial. Emin’s eroticism is not a spectacle; it is confession, a risk, an exposure – the human condition laid bare.

Her figures frequently assume postures of vulnerability, not designed to please the viewer’s gaze but to record the artist’s experience of being embodied, of aching and wanting. The economy of line emphasises emotional truth over anatomical correctness, and by leaving bodies barely tethered to form Emin invites viewers into their psychic space, their loneliness, anticipation, and the tenderness that surrounds certain erotic moments. And there is also humour, reminding us that sex can be embarrassingly funny.

Many of Emin’s works read almost as diary entries, their spontaneity suggesting a private moment captured without hesitation. They feel like visual confessions – raw and deeply human. This is what sets Emin apart; she uses drawing not to illustrate sexuality but to expose its emotional pulse. Through her minimal, urgent drawings Emin constructs an eroticism rooted in honesty, immediacy, and the courage to reveal the unidealised self.