Tracey Emin shot to fame in the 1990s with such controversial works as My Bed and Everyone I Have Ever Slept With, a small tent appliqued with the names of the 102 people (not all of them sexual partners) she had ever shared a bed with.

The tent was first shown in Minky Manky, a 1995 exhibition at the South London Gallery that also included works by Sarah Lucas, Gilbert & George and Damien Hirst. Initially criticised, it is now regarded as one of Emin's seminal works.

In 2004, the tent was destroyed in a warehouse fire, along with more than 100 other works belonging to Charles Saatchi. Emin has refused to recreate the piece, explaining that ‘my work is very personal, so I can’t create that emotion again—it’s impossible.’

Suffolk born and bred, Maggi Hambling has long been inspired by the sea. Her works include the controversial sculpture, 'Scallop', which was installed on Aldeburgh beach in 2003, in tribute to Benjamin Britten, to the many sketches and oil paintings, from small and intimate to large soaring seascapes. 'Crest of a Wave', 2009 is from Hambling’s North Sea paintings series, which began in 2002 during a storm. Hambling looked up and out of the window and the water was 'crashing round the meadows', promoting a fascination with the subject. Hambling now draws the sea every morning, very early when it’s still dark and difficult to distinguish shapes. The works demonstrate Hambling’s commitment to the rhythm of the painting and, in 2009, 'Crest of a Wave' was auctioned in aid of the Suffolk Punch Trust.

Few artists conjure the epicness of the ocean like Turner. His famous seascapes are filled with all the mystery, energy and grandeur of nature – from the violent to the sublime.

One of the most beloved English Romantic artists, his paintings of the sea often carry a metaphorical significance. Working against a backdrop of societal flux and innovation – from the rise and fall of Napolean to the advancement of steam and other modern technologies – the dynamism in canvases such as ‘Waves breaking against the wind’ captures the changes and turbulence that characterised life in the mid-nineteenth century.

The Japanese photographer Hiroshi Sugimoto has dedicated much of his career to capturing earth’s most basic elements: water and air. ‘So very commonplace are these substances, they hardly attract attention,’ he says, ‘and yet they vouchsafe our very existence.’

He began his series of seascapes in 1980 and has since produced more than 200 black-and-white photographs of the horizon line where the sky meets the sea. In some, the landscape is rendered in exquisite detail; in others, including Ligurian Sea, Saviore, it’s rather blurred. They all, however, evoke a sense of timelessness. ‘Every time I view the sea, I feel a calming sense of security,’ says Sugimoto.

In the late 1940s, too weak to paint, Henri Matisse pioneered a new art form that came to be known as ‘cut-outs’. These consisted of painted sheets of paper, which he cut into various forms, and then arranged into joyous compositions.

Celebrated for his innovative approach to form, line and colour, Matisse described the process of making these works as both ‘cutting directly into colour’ and ‘drawing with scissors.’

The distinctive imagery of Polynesia, the Sea was likely inspired by the artist’s trip to Tahiti 15 years earlier. ‘It’s curious that all these enchantments of the sky and sea hardly inspired me right off,’ Matisse told Brassaï in 1946.

Yoan Capote’s fishhook paintings are as seductive as they are menacing. From afar they look like tranquil seascapes; from up close, they disorientate and threaten — just like the deadly waters around the Caribbean.

In Isla (Rojo), thick impasto creates a swirling, blood-red sky. Swelling beneath is a dark, stormy sea consisting of thousands of tiny fishhooks that pierce the canvas. For Cubans, the sea is both a symbol of hope and of death. Here, Capote explores that duality. ‘When I was a child, I looked to the horizon and would imagine the world beyond,’ he said. ‘The sea represents the seductiveness of these dreams, but at the same time danger and isolation.’

It’s hard to think of a more famous image than Hokusai’s The Great Wave. Since its introduction to Europe in the mid-19th century, it’s starred in blockbuster exhibitions, commanded million-dollar sums at auction and inspired artists from Van Gogh to Debussy. It even has its own emoji.

Despite such celebrity, it’s in fact quite a terrifying image. Battling for survival against a towering wave with claw-like crest are fishing boats heading away from Edo (Tokyo). For many, it’s the perfect representation of man within nature. Hokusai was in his 70s when he created this image, which would go on to make both his name and his fortune.

There’s something magnetic about this bathing beauty. Frolicking in shimmering, silky waters, she seems not to have a care in the world. Sunlight kisses her dancing body; the water ripples in her wake. Revelling in her most natural state, she is at one with her surroundings. The sense of freedom is palpable.

In her most recent body of work, the figurative painter Emily Ponsonby explores the meditative effects of water — notably the sense of physical and mental weightlessness when submerged in it whilst swimming. Her thick brushstrokes give the surface of the painting a textural quality, evoking the fluid movement of the water.

Created for the 2021 London Design Biennale, Ini Archibong’s Pavilion of the African Diaspora celebrates the contributions and creativity of the Black community around the world.

The pavilion, designed to be ‘Afrofuturistic, Afro current and Afro past’, comprises three sculptural forms: The Shell, which is inspired by the mythology of conches and cowries; The Wave, which nods to the Biennale’s theme of Resonance; and The Sail, which serves as a visual reminder of ancestral and onward journeys.

‘Anchored in history, the pavilion aims to serve as a space to tell our stories and to envision a future where our voices are recognised and respected,’ explains Archibong.