A massive, fragmented bronze sculpture stands in the Renaissance courtyard. At first glance, I Followed You to the End appears as an abstract form, an uneven surface, almost a landscape. Upon closer inspection, a partially visible female body emerges, legs spread, in a posture that challenges the balance between strength and vulnerability. The casting preserves traces of the creative process, with a rough and lived-in texture. Emin subverts the tradition of monumental sculpture, long dominated by erect and dominant male figures, to restore power to fragility. The shadow of Louise Bourgeois lingers in the bronze, in a work that does not celebrate but narrates the weight of existence.

A neon piece cuts through the dimness of the room, transforming pain into light. Love Poem for CF is a declaration of love and loss, a poem etched in the air in Emin’s unmistakable handwriting. The words, drawn from verses written for her former partner Carl Freedman, vibrate with melancholy: "You put your hand / Over my mouth / But the noise / Still continues." The cold, impalpable light does not warm but exposes, like a reflection of memory that refuses to fade. This is one of Emin’s largest neon works, spanning four and a half meters of raw emotion.

In 1996, Emin locked herself in a gallery room in Stockholm for three weeks, naked, surrounded only by blank canvases. Exorcism of the Last Painting I Ever Made was a cathartic ritual, a confrontation with creative block and personal pain. After two abortions in the 1990s, she had abandoned painting, unable to face it. Here, through radical isolation, she rediscovered it, allowing each brushstroke to be an act of reconciliation. The audience, separated from her, watched through distorted lenses, silent witnesses to an intimate and visceral process. In the end, what remained was an installation preserving canvases, objects, and traces of her passage – a physical testimony of a moment of transformation.

A hand-stitched fabric carries words suspended between desire and resignation. I Do Not Expect is an appliqué in which Emin weaves fragments of thoughts on denied motherhood and the relentless passage of time. "I do not expect to be a mother, but I do expect to die alone," she writes, entrusting fabric with a memory that becomes a body of its own. The appliqué technique, traditionally associated with women’s craftwork ("People often ask me what I think about feminism. I always reply that I don’t think about feminism – I am a feminist," she explains), becomes a language of protest and personal affirmation. The irregular stitches, intentionally imperfect, create an aesthetic of vulnerability, rejecting the idea of perfection. The floral or brightly colored fabric contrasts with the emotional weight of the words, creating a tension between the delicacy of the medium and the rawness of the message.

In 2020, during the silence imposed by the pandemic, Emin painted in her London home, transforming solitude into a dialogue with absence. My Mum’s Ashes – In The Ashes Room was born from the pain of maternal loss, evoked through an urn that becomes the heart of a space for reflection. The paintings, dominated by cool shades of blue and gray, depict blurred figures, shadows emerging and vanishing. Mourning is not an end but a process of transformation. "I am much more honest with myself now," Emin reflects. "My level of guilt is phenomenal because I look inside myself to understand what I do."