But virtually gone is yesterday's fascination with
skulls - and - bones, Goth, activist rage and in - your -
face shock; Thomas Ruff's blurred nudes are benignly erotic (ditto, Johannes Kahrs's frontal wannabees and Ryan McGinley's magazine ads) Tracey Emin's auto - bare - ography
felt somehow dated and, like Sharon Hayes's manifestos, innocuous.