Tracey Emin: My Life in a Column

At last, I've found something I'm naturally good at - and it's sensual beyond belief

This is a public announcement. I will say this once and only once. Whoever it is who's putting pins in me. Stop. Stop right now.

All my life I've had a mad desire to be naturally good at something. The idea of being on a ferry boat, taking one step on to foreign soil, and opening my mouth, to be enchanted by the flow of my fluent French: "Excusez-moi, Monsieur! Ou est-ce-que je peux trouver le boutique de vin?" To the shock of those around me. "Wow, Tracey! We never knew you could speak French!"

Or, I walk into a giant Regency house. There in the atrium stands a baby grand. While others mingle with canapés, I subtly flip the lid up. There's a gasp in the room and - like magic - Mozart rolls from my fingertips. And people say: "Wow, Tracey! We never knew you could play the piano!"

Or, friends surprise me by dropping round unexpectedly for afternoon tea. While they sit and chat, and sip their Earl Grey, I gently chat back, buttering and rolling, rolling and buttering. Twenty-five minutes later, my afternoon tea guests gasp: "Wow, Tracey! We never knew you could make filo pastry!"

Until last week I had only ever once found myself in this situation - of being oh-so natural! There was a group of us spending the weekend at my gallerist's house. We were attending the Jay Jopling handicap at Thirsk. Jay had just been for a very long run and appeared in the kitchen looking a picture of health and sobriety. Whereas the rest of us, over breakfast, were still in a state of high jinks. And somehow the subject of fitness arrived at the table. The frog immediately sprung into action and demonstrated a whole load of press-up techniques. Jay got down on the floor and was also pretty impressive. Sam Taylor-Wood, meanwhile, was mind-blowing with her yoga positions. I sat there wondering how I could possibly join in. But in the end had to confess that I'd never been able to do a press-up in my life.

The others jibed me: "Come on! I'm sure you can do one!"

"OK," I said, "I'll prove it to you, I can't even do one. Watch, watch, I can't even do one!"

I lay down, arms and puddy paws flat to the floor, and with the minimum amount of effort did 20 press-ups straight off. Everyone gasped: "Wow, Tracey! We never knew you could do press-ups!" I was in a state of living shock. Jay was saying: "Go on Min, do it with one finger! Go on!"

And as I carried on going up and down, with a big smile on my face, Dave Furnish said: "You know, Tracey - you'd be really good in bed." I winked and replied: "After a fashion."

Touch my soul

What does being "good in bed" mean? I think it means you have to be good out of bed too. You have to be good in life. A good all-rounder. Maybe the filo pastry is a bit extreme.

Sometimes a person can touch someone they've never touched before like they know every orifice known to man. But this isn't always a good thing. I've known some sex mechanics in my time and, God, they're dull. It's like they've read the manual and there's only one right way of doing anything. Sometimes being good in bed is being really crap in bed. And along with passion comes laughter. And with laughter, love. I could never be intimate with someone who did not have the ability to make me smile. To feel relaxed. To feel at ease. To feel natural. To feel at one with someone.

That's more than nature. To touch someone's soul, you must have a conscience. That's being good in bed. Me doing press-ups with a dildo strapped on is not good in bed! To be a natural. It's like being at school when they said: "Tracey could do better if she tried harder." It makes me realise just how lazy I am in life.

I'll often accept that I can't do something: a) because I've never tried; and b) because I can't muster the effort to learn something new. When I was at school, and I wanted to leave early, I was quite adamant that I wanted to leave my brain half-empty to fill it with what I wanted to fill it with. (I guess art is my thing.)

And then there's all those gits out there, who, from the day you were born, said: "you can't do this and you can't do that!" I think it's what you call arrested development. Most of the things I've succeeded with in my life, (it isn't that much), I've really had to fight for, with myself as much as anyone else.

Play dough

Anyway, last week I was really good at something! And I can be good at it again if I like. Ceramics, man, it's the buzz of the future! No seriously, last Friday I went into my studio, stressed, in pain, in misery, and within five minutes of slapping a lump of terracotta on a wheel, I was laughing so much I could hardly control myself. You have to raise the clay with both hands, then lower it, then raise it, then lower it again, to remove the bubbles of air. Sensual pleasure beyond belief.

Even though my editor said I musn't mention the word "big", it was fantastic to form and reform every penis under the sun. Oh yes, she's a natural!

Tracey Emin's work is part of the ART ANON auction for the Terrence Higgins Trust, opening on Wednesday 18 January at the Business Design Centre, Upper Street, London N1