Tracey Emin's dirty bed is a miniscule work when compared with Dennis Severs' 10-room, five-storey installation in the home in which he lived in London's Spitalfields.
Severs was a Californian who spent his formative years drooling over the lifestyles portrayed in BBC costume dramas of the 18th and 19th centuries.
He emigrated to London and after buying a Georgian home devoted the rest of his life to turning each room into a chapter from his own fictional history of the lives led by a family of silk weavers between 1724 and 1837.
Unmade beds? There's a four poster in a richly furnished and decorated room from the mid-18th century where the coverings have been flung back as a family of rich silk weavers start their day.
A 19th century attic room is inhabited by a destitute family following the destruction of hand silk weaving by the industrial revolution. The filthy bed has torn, stained sheets, there's a half-full chamber pot, the ceiling is collapsing and the family's smalls are drying over the bare boards of the creaky stairs.
Other beds tell other stories.
Dennis' concept was to create the illusion that we visitors have walked unannounced into the home of the Jervis family. There are muffled noises which suggest members of the family are elsewhere in the house. Perhaps Mr Jervis has just popped into the rear garden.
It reminded me of an experience I had in the 70s when, being nosey, I walked into a solicitor's office in a glorious old building in Norwich. There were people somewhere inside but as I looked into various rooms I saw not a soul. And then in a large room deep inside the building I was astounded to find an office straight out of Great Expectations with several very tall wooden desks with steeply-sloping writing surfaces.
It was a living, breathing time warp. And this is what Dennis Severs created at 18 Folgate Street, which is, ironically, just round the corner from Tracey Emin's home.
As we wander unhindered by any barriers or ropes into each room we also enter a different era and discover the changing fortunes of the mythical Jervis family.
Each room is crammed with detailed evidence to suggest the Jervises are somewhere in the house. The illusion is that a family member left the room a moment before we entered and will return as soon as we leave.
There are half-finished glasses of sherry, a coffee pot being kept warm over a candle, fires burning in the grates, a half-finished meal, a broken egg in a bowl in which a cake is being mixed. Listen - and you can hear a horse trotting by outside.
We enter a room to find a Hogarth painting on the wall mirrored by the bacchanalian mess left by Mr Jervis after entertaining his friends to too much wine. A chair has fallen on its back and wine glasses have toppled. Perhaps Mr Jervis has just fallen into bed in the next room.
Dennis Severs was still living and sleeping in his giant tableau and adding even more details until the day before his death in 1999.
His home, exactly as he and the Jervises left it, is open to the public every Sunday afternoon as well as on some Monday lunchtimes and some evenings.
Tracey Emin's bed sold for $4.5 million so what does that make this unique installation, which provokes so much more thought, worth? I wouldn't give you tuppence for Tracey's bed but I thought my £7 entry fee to 18 Folgate Street was well worth it.
Severs was a Californian who spent his formative years drooling over the lifestyles portrayed in BBC costume dramas of the 18th and 19th centuries.
He emigrated to London and after buying a Georgian home devoted the rest of his life to turning each room into a chapter from his own fictional history of the lives led by a family of silk weavers between 1724 and 1837.
Unmade beds? There's a four poster in a richly furnished and decorated room from the mid-18th century where the coverings have been flung back as a family of rich silk weavers start their day.
A 19th century attic room is inhabited by a destitute family following the destruction of hand silk weaving by the industrial revolution. The filthy bed has torn, stained sheets, there's a half-full chamber pot, the ceiling is collapsing and the family's smalls are drying over the bare boards of the creaky stairs.
Other beds tell other stories.
Dennis' concept was to create the illusion that we visitors have walked unannounced into the home of the Jervis family. There are muffled noises which suggest members of the family are elsewhere in the house. Perhaps Mr Jervis has just popped into the rear garden.
It reminded me of an experience I had in the 70s when, being nosey, I walked into a solicitor's office in a glorious old building in Norwich. There were people somewhere inside but as I looked into various rooms I saw not a soul. And then in a large room deep inside the building I was astounded to find an office straight out of Great Expectations with several very tall wooden desks with steeply-sloping writing surfaces.
It was a living, breathing time warp. And this is what Dennis Severs created at 18 Folgate Street, which is, ironically, just round the corner from Tracey Emin's home.
As we wander unhindered by any barriers or ropes into each room we also enter a different era and discover the changing fortunes of the mythical Jervis family.
Each room is crammed with detailed evidence to suggest the Jervises are somewhere in the house. The illusion is that a family member left the room a moment before we entered and will return as soon as we leave.
There are half-finished glasses of sherry, a coffee pot being kept warm over a candle, fires burning in the grates, a half-finished meal, a broken egg in a bowl in which a cake is being mixed. Listen - and you can hear a horse trotting by outside.
We enter a room to find a Hogarth painting on the wall mirrored by the bacchanalian mess left by Mr Jervis after entertaining his friends to too much wine. A chair has fallen on its back and wine glasses have toppled. Perhaps Mr Jervis has just fallen into bed in the next room.
Dennis Severs was still living and sleeping in his giant tableau and adding even more details until the day before his death in 1999.
His home, exactly as he and the Jervises left it, is open to the public every Sunday afternoon as well as on some Monday lunchtimes and some evenings.
Tracey Emin's bed sold for $4.5 million so what does that make this unique installation, which provokes so much more thought, worth? I wouldn't give you tuppence for Tracey's bed but I thought my £7 entry fee to 18 Folgate Street was well worth it.