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“I am a teenager growing up during a time marked by conflict, dishonesty, discrimination, racism, sexism. Yet few appear outraged by these issues. People see minor progress in social equality as solutions to societal problems completely and it just falls short.”

It’s March 2015, and I’ve done it I had cracked social injustice. Standing in the basement room of Modern Art Oxford for my regional heat in a public speaking contest, 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 Contest

The Articulation prize is an event for post-GCSE students, between 16 and 19, where participants get a brief period to deliver about an artwork they select. I learned about it by my head of sixth form, whose office I frequently visited shortly prior to the competition. As a pupil, I was clever but chatty and easily distracted. Emotions hit me intensely and was frequently emotional and upset.

My approach was an all-or-nothing approach to my education: excel completely or don’t bother. During our meeting, we talked about my choice to drop a history course soon after beginning it because I didn’t think to achieve for me to finish top graded. “Not everything is death or glory,” he implored.

An Opportunity

Supported by my patient art instructor, the director of sixth form saw that Articulation was exactly the opportunity I required – since I loved art AS-level, and was suitably gobby as part of the school’s informal discussion group. He proposed I prepare something for a preliminary school-level round. From memory, I don’t think anyone else applied.

Selecting a Topic

I chose to speak about Damien Hirst’s medicine cabinets, which I had seen at his 2012 retrospective at Tate Modern (a related print is still stuck on the wall near my workspace). I encountered his creations for the first time as a child visiting Ilfracombe, a coastal location where my grandmother had grown up, and where Hirst operated an eatery, the Quay, full of formaldehyde-imprisoned sea creatures, and walls covered covered in pills. I loved that his work was humorous and rebellious, and that he got away with labeling anything as artistic. It amused me my relative disapproved. Above all, I loved that, since the artwork took titles from after tracks from a punk record, I was going to say “Sex” (Pistols) several times during the talk. I felt like the boldest teen mind of my generation.

The Outcome

At the regional heat, there were nine participants spoke, all of whom more refined cultural context, made fewer unqualified, broad claims, and used the word “bollocks” less. I received third place. As a teenager who tied most self-esteem to success, typically this meant a devastating outcome. But, in that moment, the fact that appreciated my talk, and chuckled exactly when I had wanted, felt enough.

A New Path

By the time the organizers asked to give my talk again, this time as part of an event in London, I submitted my paperwork to study art history at university. Prior to this, I had thought I’d choose literature or languages, but certainly not at Oxbridge, where I knew I couldn’t become “the best”. Yet the experience had emboldened me and convinced me that my views deserved expression, even when I didn’t speak specialized terms. I didn’t need perfection: I only had to put my spin 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 came full circle when I was invited back this spring as the inaugural graduate judge for a competition round.

The competition gave me confidence beyond my degree choice: not that I could achieve great things, but that I didn’t have to. I stopped requiring flawless results; I needed to lean into my own voice. I transformed from anxious and easily overcome – passionate but quick to anger – to someone who believed their own abilities. I didn’t need to be perfect. Initially, being genuine outweighed importance over than flawlessness.

Gratitude

I’ll always be grateful to the college leader who took time to comprehend me during my years as an obstinate and emotional teenager, rather than simply dismissing me (in retrospect, some irritation would have been entirely justified). Not everything is death or glory; I realized attempts matter even without guarantees of “victory”.