The guy ropes, tent pegs, and groundsheet met the same fate as the embroidered panels which bore the names of more than 100 of her companions. They were victims to a fire in the Momart art warehouse.

© The artist, Photo Stephen White, Courtesy Jay Jopling/White Cube (London)
Happier times
Though it met a tragic end, the life of Everyone I Have Ever Slept With 1963-1995 was a short and controversial one. The tent helped Emin become a well-known artist, though her outspoken and often drunken pronouncements like: "I got a reputation not just of being a slag but of being a devious slag" also helped. But the tent got a bad press partly because people thought it was just too much information about Emin's sexuality. This was only partly true, as "slept with" really meant "slept with"; the names included Emin's grandmother, her teddy bear, and her (later aborted) foetuses. Some observers found the action of climbing inside the tent to read the names strangely intimate. Nevertheless, many others concluded that, even though they didn't know much about art, they knew what they liked. And that didn't mean embroidered tents. While many in the art world are mourning its passing, their views are not shared by members of the press. Some newspapers have tried to recreate the lost masterpiece by visiting a camping supplies shop. It cost one paper £67.50; another got a bargain at £39.99. (Art collector Charles Saatchi reportedly paid £40,000 for the original.) The tent is survived by its younger sibling, My Bed, a representation of the artist's unmade bed complete with empty Vodka bottles, cigarette packets and condoms, which was not in the same warehouse.

In death as in life, the tent will remain, depending on your preference, either "a really remarkable work... intimate and loving", or "a massive sulk... bad art".

No flowers.