Children's theater The collision between confession and theater gives Emins's show the bitter power it has. Paradoxically, it makes the viewer's life part of the spectacle as well. It rests on a low, raised platform, facing two small chairs, the kind from a child's furniture set. Neo and post are at it again, with exactly the puzzle that makes the best contemporary art so haunting. Beyond the child's furniture, in a back room, a rumpled bed enacts the scene of illicit sex.
Money lies among the crushed props on the floor.
Of course, Emins could not really conduct her sex life in the gallery office, at least I think not. Outside the videos, in fact, Emins chooses props so American that I could have entered a Whitney Biennial or two . I could well mistake the wooden shed for the work of Paul McCarthy. And no question, the postmodern spectacle has its drawbacks. It is only fair to report that I can attach no particular meaning to McCarthy's shed either.