Tracy Emin's work crude and self-centred? That's missing the point

So much of Tracey Emin, and her techniques – paintings, sculptures, film, neon, installations, texts, embroidery, the list is endless – is contained in Tracey Emin: 20 Years that she confesses to having had a mini-crisis during the 10-day installation period. "I couldn't bear to look at myself in the mirror; couldn't stand the sound of my voice. I just couldn't take Tracey Emin any more. I just hope that visitors will be able to cut themselves off a bit from the Tracey thing," she says.

It seems, she goes on to admit, unlikely, given that "all the work's about me and my experiences". But, in fact, although not many viewers will have gone through everything that Emin has experienced, it's not hard to find something to relate to in the highly personal and constantly intriguing inspirations that feed her art.

Her fan base, she says, is made up predominantly of young women aged 15 to 24, while she's also a gay icon. The reaction to such pieces as My Abortion, five framed items of memorabilia and handwritten texts, may be different depending on whether you're male or female. "One bloke told me my work made him feel embarrassed at being a man," she chuckles.

There's a short video clip of a trip to Norway in which the camera pans round from the calm surface of rippling waters to Emin, naked, in a foetal position, screaming at the top of her lungs. The piercing sound floats alarmingly down the cool white corridors of the gallery, presenting a haunting ostinato to her own voice in the press conference.

But despite the graphic content of some of the work, the sequence of pictures of women with splayed legs, or the in-your-face curses and more enigmatic phrases on the beautiful and hugely detailed blankets, to dismiss her work as crude or self-centred is to miss the point. That's just one aspect of Emin. By far the most touching examples of her work are Uncle Colin – the piece that, at least on the day I spoke to her, she would most like to save if all else were to be destroyed. A favourite relative whose sudden death traumatised her is immortalised in text and photos, just as the spirit of her grandmother hovers over the colourful There's a Lot of Money in Chairs – mainly stuffed down the back of them, in this case. The bird drawings sing off the wall, while one of the most fascinating exhibits involves tiny photographic reproductions of work she destroyed in 1990.

It's brave of Emin to expose so much of herself over such a long period. A short DVD, Why I Never Became a Dancer, tells a bigger story, while the reproduction, on a smaller scale, of Exorcism of the Last Painting I Ever Made from 1996 is such a personal insight that it provokes wry smiles and even a tear. When she goes back to London for a short while, she admits she'll feel a bit bereft. But she's clearly delighted with the temporary custodians of her work, the staff at this gallery which she adores, and the Edinburgh public who have astonished her with their open-minded interest in her and her work.

According to the show's curator, Patrick Elliott, it seemed an obvious choice to present a 20-year retrospective of Emin's work – and a neat link with Tracey Emin: My Major Retrospective in 1993. Since then, she's become an international figure, recognised with a show at last year's Venice Biennale and sought after for photo-shoots, celebrity features and comments on the arts. But despite her stature, she's determined not to let go of her often dismal past. In an installation of 2005, It's Not the Way I Want to Die, the reproduction of a rollercoaster from Margate, warped wood planks, a rickety walkway held by rusty nails, and the work's shabby fragility suggest that it's not only that structure which might collapse.

On a happier note, there's The Perfect Place to Grow, an enchanting garden hut on stilts, at the foot of which are pots of foliage and flowering plants. It's a homage to her green-fingered father.

Nothing prepares you for the impact of Emin's work and even she had her breath taken away by the effect of the enormous, framed appliquéd blankets in one of the airiest rooms. Tucked away in a corner is My Bed, still with the same unwashed look, and what we Scots call a "guddle", that gives it its slightly seedy charm. The drawings demand careful attention, while the message of the more recent abstract paintings, such as I Told You Not To Try and Find Me, is fairly clear. Try harder. The neon signs shout one thing, scraps of text contradict them. But that conflict is the essence of Emin's personality – the intelligent, articulate and vital versus the bolshie, moody and self-centred – and it is what makes her and her work, so imaginatively presented in this important retrospective, worth our time and attention.

Asked how she felt about being featured down the road from the Impressionsts at another of the National Galleries of Scotland's big summer shows, Emin replies candidly: "There is no genre of painting with which I would rather be associated less."

For gallery-goers, both exhibitions seem essential viewing in Edinburgh this summer. Even if you can't afford an original, you can buy her cat on a T-shirt.

As for the cover of the catalogue, well, which woman wouldn't kill for legs like that?

Tracey Emin: 20 Years, Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art, Edinburgh (0131-624 6200), to 9 November