Waking up in the wrong bed is always weird. There are those few seconds where you blink open your eyes and, somewhere between sleep and reality, you have to find your way. You feel strange sheets. You are aware of the light. You listen to unfamiliar noises and wait for your consciousness to catch up with you. And it feels difficult.
Because there is something important about a bed. It’s a place for vulnerability and rejuvenation and intimacy and privacy… After all, it’s where we go to dream.
I have always loved the work of Tracey Emin. I love the honesty. I love the openness. I love the beauty. I love the reflections. I love the strength. I love the words. And something about her work speaks to me personally. Like a shared secret.
In her work I see the importance of that space. That space between two words; dreams and reality. And I see the possibility of being reborn.
I am one of those people who needs sleep. Needs to go to bed early (the earlier the better I say), in my own bed, and sleep through without interruptions to awake feeling refreshed. I’m terrible if I am tired. And maybe that is why. Maybe each day to me is a fresh start, a new life and a chance to get things right.
I haven’t slept well this week. Too many things in my head. And, last night, this unfamiliar bed.