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“I am young person growing up during a time with war, corruption, discrimination, racial bias, sexism. Yet few seems angry about it. Many view minor progress in social equality as solutions to societal problems completely though that isn’t enough.”

Back in March 2015, I believed I’ve solved inequality. Standing in the basement room at an Oxford art venue for my regional heat of the Articulation prize, I was convinced that perhaps I just introduced this room full of parents and teachers to the idea regarding gender equality. I felt proud of my performance.

The Contest

This speaking award is a competition for post-GCSE students, between 16 and 19, where participants get a brief period to deliver on a work of art of their choice. I was told about it by my head of sixth form, whose office I had ended up in shortly prior to the event. As a pupil, I performed well though talkative and often unfocused. Emotions hit me acutely and was frequently emotional and upset.

I also took an all-or-nothing perspective on academics: excel completely or quit entirely. During our meeting, we talked about my decision to abandon a history course within weeks of starting because I didn’t think to achieve for me to finish with an A. “Not everything about extremes,” he urged.

An Opportunity

Along with my longsuffering art instructor, the director of the college recognised that Articulation was exactly the opportunity I required – since I enjoyed art studies, and proved outspoken within of the school’s rag-tag discussion group. He suggested I develop a talk for an initial school-level round. From memory, I don’t think anyone else applied.

Choosing Art

I chose to speak about the artist’s pharmacy installations, which I had seen during an exhibit at Tate Modern (the poster of which remains posted on my wall near my workspace). I encountered Hirst’s work for the first time as a child in north Devon, the north Devon town where my grandmother had grown up, and where Hirst operated an eatery, its name, featuring preserved sea creatures, and wallpaper with tablet designs. I loved that the art seemed funny and contrarian, that he successfully labeling anything as artistic. It amused me my relative disapproved. But maybe most of all, I loved that, since the artwork took titles from after tracks on their 1977 album, I was going to say “Sex” (Pistols) several times during the talk. I felt like the boldest teen mind among my peers.

The Outcome

At the regional heat, there were nine other speakers, all of whom more refined cultural context, offered less unqualified, broad claims, and said “nonsense” less. I was awarded third place. As a teenager who put almost all of her self-worth to success, typically this meant a crushing blow. Yet then, the fact that people seemed to enjoy, and had laughed precisely where I had wanted, felt enough.

Fresh Directions

When the organizers asked to present once more, this time as part of a conference at the British Museum, I submitted my application to study art history at university. Prior to this, I assumed I’d choose for English or German, but certainly not at Oxbridge, where I knew I would never be “top ranked”. Yet the experience boosted my courage and convinced me that my views were worth sharing, without knowing the lingo. I no longer required perfection: I just needed to add my perspective to topics.

Discovering Passion

Talking about art – and learning how to make people laugh while I do it – quickly became my guiding light. My Articulation journey completed itself when I was invited back recently as the inaugural alumni evaluator for a competition round.

The event gave me confidence outside academics: not that I would accomplish major feats, but that I didn’t have to. I no longer needed flawless results; I embraced personal expression. I transformed from anxious and easily overcome – passionate but quick to frustration – into a person trusting their own abilities. I didn’t need necessary. For the first time, authenticity meant more to me than flawlessness.

Appreciation

I’ll always be grateful to the sixth-form head who made the effort to understand me when I was an obstinate and emotional teenager, instead of dismissing me (in retrospect, I think an eye roll would have been entirely justified). Not everything is death or glory; I learned that attempts matter even without the promise of “winning”.