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As a a teenager growing up during an age marked by conflict, dishonesty, discrimination, racial bias, gender inequality. Yet few seems angry by these issues. People see the slight advances towards equal society as having solved our issues completely though that falls short.”

It’s March 2015, and I’ve done it I had cracked inequality. Standing in a lower-level space of Modern Art Oxford for my regional heat of the Articulation prize, I truly believe that I may have had presented this room full of parents and teachers to the idea of feminism. I felt proud of my performance.

The Competition

This speaking award is an event for post-GCSE students, between 16 and 19, where participants get 10 minutes to present about an artwork of their choice. I learned about it by my head of my college, and his room I had ended up in shortly prior to the event. As a pupil, I was clever though talkative and often unfocused. Emotions hit me acutely and was frequently emotional and upset.

My approach was a binary approach to my education: excel completely or quit entirely. During our meeting, we talked about my choice to abandon history AS-level within weeks beginning it thinking it impossible to achieve completing it top graded. Life isn’t is death or glory,” he urged.

A Chance

Supported by my longsuffering art instructor, the director of sixth form saw that Articulation was exactly the opportunity I required – since I enjoyed art studies, and was suitably gobby as part the institution’s rag-tag debate club. He suggested I develop a talk for a preliminary in-school heat. Recalling now, it seems no one else participated.

Choosing Art

I chose to speak on Damien Hirst’s medicine cabinets, which I had seen during an exhibit at Tate Modern (the poster of which is still stuck on the wall near my workspace). I’d seen his creations for the first time as a child in north Devon, the north Devon town my elder relative had grown up, and where Hirst had a restaurant, the Quay, full of formaldehyde-imprisoned sea creatures, and wallpaper with tablet designs. I loved that his work was humorous and rebellious, that he successfully calling whatever as artistic. It amused me my relative disapproved. But maybe most of all, I loved that, since the artwork took titles from song names from a punk record, I could say “The word” (Band name) repeatedly during the talk. I felt like the boldest teen mind among my peers.

The Outcome

During the local round, there were nine participants spoke, each presenting had better historical references, offered less unsupported, sweeping statements, and used the word “nonsense” less. I was awarded the bronze position. For a teen who put almost all self-esteem to success, typically this meant a crushing blow. But, in that moment, the fact that people seemed to enjoy, and had laughed precisely where I had wanted, proved sufficient.

Fresh Directions

By the time Articulation invited me to present once more, this time as part of an event at the British Museum, I had sent in my application to read art history at Oxford. 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 deserved expression, even when I didn’t speak the lingo. I didn’t need to be the best: I just needed to put my spin to topics.

Discovering Passion

Discussing creativity – and finding ways to entertain audiences while I do it – quickly became my guiding light. This contest experience completed itself when I was invited back this spring as the inaugural alumni evaluator for a competition round.

The event built my self-assurance beyond my degree choice: not that I could achieve great things, but that I needn’t. I no longer needed flawless results; I embraced personal expression. I went from being nervous and fragile – emotional yet impatient to frustration – into a person trusting their own abilities. Perfection wasn’t necessary. Initially, being genuine outweighed importance over than flawlessness.

Gratitude

I’ll always be grateful to the sixth-form head who took time to comprehend me during my years as an obstinate and emotional teenager, instead of rolling his eyes (and, looking back, some irritation might have been understandable). Life isn’t was death or glory; I realized it is often worth trying even without guarantees of “winning”.