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As a young person living in an age with war, corruption, prejudice, racism, gender inequality. But no one appear outraged about it. People see minor progress in social equality as solutions to our issues completely though that falls short.”

Back in March 2015, I believed I’ve solved inequality. Present in the basement room of Modern Art Oxford 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 of feminism. I’m very pleased of my performance.

The Contest

The Articulation prize is an event for post-GCSE students, aged 16 to 19, where participants get a brief period to deliver on a work of art they select. I learned about it by my head of sixth form, whose office I had ended up in shortly prior to the competition. As a pupil, I was clever but chatty and easily distracted. I felt everything acutely and was frequently overwhelmed and tearful.

I also took an all-or-nothing approach to my education: excel completely or don’t bother. In the office, we talked about my choice to abandon a history course within weeks of starting thinking it impossible to achieve completing it top graded. Life isn’t is death or glory,” he urged.

An Opportunity

Along with my longsuffering art instructor, the head of the college recognised that the competition proved the perfect chance that I needed – since I enjoyed art studies, and was suitably outspoken within the institution’s informal discussion group. He suggested I prepare something for a preliminary in-school heat. From memory, I don’t think anyone else applied.

Selecting a Topic

My presentation focused about Damien Hirst’s pharmacy installations, viewed previously at his 2012 retrospective in London (the poster of which is still stuck on the wall near my workspace). I encountered his creations for the first time as a child in north Devon, the north Devon town where my grandmother had grown up, and where the artist had a restaurant, its name, full of preserved sea creatures, and walls covered with tablet designs. I appreciated his work was humorous and rebellious, and that he got away with labeling anything he wanted “art”. It amused me my grandmother hated it. Above all, I loved that, since the artwork took titles from song names on their 1977 album, I was going to say “The word” (Band name) several times during the talk. I felt like the boldest teen mind of my generation.

The Outcome

At the regional heat, nine other participants spoke, all of whom had better cultural context, made fewer unsupported, broad claims, and said “bollocks” rarely. I received third place. For a teen who tied most of her self-worth on achievement, this would usually meant a crushing blow. But, in that moment, that people appreciated my talk, and chuckled precisely where I had wanted, proved sufficient.

A New Path

When the organizers asked to give my talk again, now during a conference in London, I submitted my application to read history of art at university. Before the competition, I had thought I was going to apply literature or languages, not considering at Oxbridge, believing there I couldn’t become “the best”. Yet the experience had emboldened me and made me believe that my opinions were worth sharing, even when I didn’t speak specialized terms. I didn’t need perfection: I only had to add my perspective on things.

Discovering Passion

Discussing creativity – and finding ways to make people laugh while I do it – quickly became my guiding light. My Articulation journey completed itself upon returning recently to be the first graduate judge of an Articulation heat.

The competition gave me confidence beyond my degree choice: not that I could achieve great things, but that I didn’t have to. I no longer needed flawless results; I embraced personal expression. I went from being anxious and easily overcome – passionate but quick to anger – into a person trusting their own abilities. Perfection wasn’t to be perfect. For the first time, authenticity meant importance over ideal outcomes.

Gratitude

I remain thankful to the sixth-form head who made the effort to understand me when I was a stubborn, sensitive teenager, rather than simply rolling his eyes (in retrospect, some irritation might have been entirely justified). Not everything was absolute success or failure; I learned that it is often worth trying even without guarantees of “winning”.