Art imitates life. So people say. I’d argue that art can both imitate and transcend life. Delve into the imagination, subconscious, and abstraction. But Tracey Emin’s My Bed really does imitate life. It doesn’t even feel like an imitation; it’s life framed as art in the form of an installation piece. Of course, this can bring up everyone’s favorite “is this really art?” question, which I think is especially common (and warranted) when encountering the Young British Artists (YBAs) and conceptual art in general.

All of that aside, I love the idea of a self portrait without the body. The self as a collection of belongings. People say you are what you eat. They say you are who you surround yourself with. How about you are what you own? Especially in a material culture, aren’t the things we buy evidence of who we are? What we like? What we think we need?

My Bed was met with astonishment when it was exhibited at Tate Britain’s 1999 Turner Prize exhibition. As is to be expected, not all reactions were positive–and still today are mixed–with many considering it cheap or lacking real substance. “It’s just an unmade bed”. I agree that what we’re looking at is an unmade bed, but I find it incredibly thought-provoking with and without context. We can ascribe our own experiences to the work and/or consider the artist’s emotional state and physical being in relation to these objects.

Emin created My Bed when she was 35, emerging from a traumatic break-up. The installation piece is a mess of things. A lot of which suggest that the owner of the bed isn’t doing so hot. Condoms, vodka bottles, cigarette butts, pantyhose.

I had a complete absolute breakdown and I spent four days in bed. I was asleep and semi-unconscious. When I eventually did get out of bed, had some water, went back and looked at the bedroom and couldn’t believe what I could see: this absolute mess and decay of my life.

Tracey Emin on My Bed for TateShots

Most of us have gone through something devastating. Whether it’s grief over a death or breakup, major depression, or another crisis entirely. While our “breakdown sanctuaries” all look different, this experience of pain is universal albeit the details unique to each individual. What would your breakdown bed look like? What would it say about you and how you cope with despair? What do you numb yourself with?

I especially like the consideration that went into staging the installation in a gallery with Francis Bacon’s art. It zooms out on something that seems very personal and makes it so that it can be applicable to anyone. After all, we all lay down to sleep. Sleep is arguably the most vulnerable thing in life. Video below:

I will note that although it was originally exhibited in 1998, My Bed has gone on to be displayed at tons of shows around the world. Emin has spoken to how the installation has changed over time. She notes that “all the objects and the bed get further and further away from [her].” Just like how with time, we get further away from our trauma. While it may or may not grow smaller in our minds, that doesn’t diminish the pain we felt at the time. When we were stuck laying in our beds.