In A Second Life, Tracey Emin distills her unmistakable handwriting into a luminous confession suspended in space. Rendered in white neon, the phrase hovers against the wall with both fragility and insistence, its looping script at once intimate and declarative. As with many of Emin’s neons, the work reads like a diary entry made public—an emotional utterance transformed into light.

Emin’s neon practice, which she began in the 1990s, has become one of the most recognisable and critically significant strands of her oeuvre. Drawing on the visual language of commercial signage—traditionally associated with seduction, desire, and urban nightlife—she subverts its function. Rather than advertising a product, Emin advertises a feeling. The glowing tube becomes a conduit for vulnerability, longing, regret, and resilience. Her handwriting, preserved in glass, retains its immediacy; the slight tremor and fluidity of line convey urgency and authenticity.

The phrase “A Second Life” resonates deeply within Emin’s broader thematic concerns. Throughout her career, she has explored cycles of trauma and recovery, heartbreak and renewal, mortality and survival. In recent years particularly, her work has carried an intensified awareness of physical fragility and rebirth. Here, the words suggest transformation—an emotional or existential restart. The idea of a second life implies both rupture and hope: something has ended, and something else has begun.

Materially, neon is paradoxical. It appears delicate yet is industrial; it glows warmly yet is made of cold gas and glass. Emin exploits this tension masterfully. The light softens the confession, making it tender rather than confrontational. Installed on a wall, the work casts a subtle halo, extending the emotional register beyond the literal script and into the surrounding space. The viewer is enveloped in its quiet radiance.

With an edition of just three, A Second Life maintains the intimacy and rarity characteristic of Emin’s most sought-after neons. The scale—horizontal and expansive—allows the phrase to unfold across the wall like a line of poetry. It occupies space without overwhelming it, commanding attention through emotional charge rather than monumentality.

In this work, Emin once again demonstrates her ability to transform language into sculpture and confession into permanence. A Second Life is not merely a statement; it is an illuminated threshold—between past and future, loss and renewal, darkness and light.