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As a a teenager growing up during an age marked by conflict, dishonesty, prejudice, racial bias, gender inequality. Yet few appear outraged by these issues. Many view minor progress in social equality as having solved societal problems completely though that isn’t enough.”

It’s March 2015, I believed I’ve solved social injustice. Present in the basement room at an Oxford art venue during a local round of the Articulation prize, I truly believe that I may have just introduced the audience of parents and teachers to the idea of feminism. I’m very pleased of my performance.

The Competition

The Articulation prize is a competition for post-GCSE students, between 16 and 19, who are given a brief period to present on a work of art of their choice. I was told about it from the leader of sixth form, and his room I frequently visited just weeks before the event. As a pupil, I performed well though talkative and easily distracted. Emotions hit me acutely often becoming overwhelmed and tearful.

I also took a binary perspective on academics: excel completely or quit entirely. In the office, we talked about my decision to abandon history AS-level soon after beginning it thinking it impossible to achieve completing it top graded. Life isn’t about extremes,” he implored.

An Opportunity

Supported by my patient art teacher, the head of the college recognised that the competition proved the perfect chance that I needed – since I enjoyed art studies, and proved outspoken within of the school’s informal debate club. He proposed I prepare something for a preliminary school-level round. Recalling now, it seems anyone else applied.

Choosing Art

I chose to speak about Damien Hirst’s pharmacy installations, viewed previously at his 2012 retrospective at Tate Modern (the poster of which is still stuck on the wall behind my desk). I encountered his creations initially as a child visiting Ilfracombe, a coastal location my elder relative had grown up, and where the artist had a restaurant, its name, featuring formaldehyde-imprisoned fish, and walls covered with tablet designs. I loved that his work was funny and contrarian, that he successfully labeling anything as artistic. It amused me my grandmother hated it. Above all, I enjoyed that, because the medicine cabinet installations were named song names on their 1977 album, I could say “Sex” (Band name) several times in my speech. I felt like the most radical teen mind of my generation.

The Outcome

At the regional heat, there were nine participants spoke, all of whom more refined cultural context, offered less unqualified, sweeping statements, and said “nonsense” less. I was awarded the bronze position. As a teenager who put almost all self-esteem to success, typically this have been a crushing blow. Yet then, that people people seemed to enjoy, and chuckled exactly when I intended, felt enough.

A New Path

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 history of art at university. Before the competition, I assumed I was going to apply literature or languages, but certainly not at Oxbridge, where I knew I couldn’t become “the best”. But the competition had emboldened me and made me believe 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

Discussing creativity – and finding ways to make people laugh during presentations – quickly became my north star. My Articulation journey completed itself upon returning recently as the inaugural graduate judge of an Articulation heat.

The competition gave me confidence beyond my degree choice: not that I would accomplish major feats, but that I didn’t have to. I no longer needed to covet perfection; I needed to lean into my own voice. I went from being anxious and easily overcome – passionate but quick to frustration – into a person trusting in their capabilities. Perfection wasn’t necessary. Initially, being genuine outweighed more to me than flawlessness.

Gratitude

I remain thankful to the sixth-form head who took time to understand me when I was an obstinate and emotional young adult, instead of rolling his eyes (and, looking back, some irritation might have been understandable). Life isn’t was absolute success or failure; I learned that it is often worth trying even without the promise of “winning”.