“I am young person living in a time with war, corruption, discrimination, racial bias, gender inequality. Yet few appear outraged about it. People see minor progress in social equality as solutions to societal problems completely and it just isn’t enough.”
Back in March 2015, I believed I had cracked inequality. Standing in a lower-level space of Modern Art Oxford for my regional heat of the Articulation prize, I was convinced that I may have had presented the audience of parents and teachers to the idea of feminism. I felt proud of my performance.
The Contest
This speaking award is a competition aimed at older teens, aged 16 to 19, who are given 10 minutes to deliver about an artwork they select. I learned about it from the leader of my college, and his room I frequently visited shortly prior to the event. During school, I performed well but chatty and easily distracted. Emotions hit me intensely and was frequently emotional and upset.
I also took a binary perspective on academics: excel completely or don’t bother. During our meeting, we discussed my decision to abandon history AS-level within weeks beginning it thinking it impossible it would be possible completing it top graded. Life isn’t is death or glory,” he implored.
An Opportunity
Along with my longsuffering art teacher, the head of the college saw that Articulation was exactly the opportunity that I needed – after all I enjoyed art studies, and was suitably gobby as part of the school’s rag-tag discussion group. He proposed I prepare something for a preliminary in-school heat. Recalling now, it seems anyone else applied.
Selecting a Topic
I chose to speak about Damien Hirst’s pharmacy installations, which I had seen during an exhibit at Tate Modern (a related print remains posted on my wall near my workspace). I encountered his creations for the first time as a child visiting Ilfracombe, the north Devon town where my grandmother was raised, and where Hirst had a restaurant, its name, full of preserved fish, and walls covered covered in pills. I appreciated the art seemed funny and contrarian, and that he got away with calling whatever as artistic. It amused me my grandmother hated it. 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” (Pistols) several times during the talk. I truly was the most radical young thinker among my peers.
The Result
During the local round, there were nine other speakers, all of whom more refined cultural context, offered less unqualified, sweeping statements, and said “nonsense” rarely. I received third place. For a teen who tied most self-esteem to success, typically this meant a devastating outcome. But, in that moment, that people appreciated my talk, and had laughed exactly when I intended, felt enough.
Fresh Directions
When Articulation invited me to present once more, this time as part of an event in London, I submitted my paperwork to read history of art at university. Before the competition, I assumed I was going to apply for English or German, not considering top universities, where I knew I would never be “the best”. But the competition had emboldened me and convinced me that my views were worth sharing, without knowing the lingo. I no longer required to be the best: I just needed to add my perspective on things.
Finding Purpose
Talking about art – and finding ways to make people laugh during presentations – soon turned into my guiding light. My Articulation journey came full circle when I was invited back recently to be the first graduate judge for a competition round.
The competition built my self-assurance outside academics: not that I could achieve great things, but that I didn’t have to. I stopped requiring flawless results; I embraced my own voice. I transformed from anxious and easily overcome – passionate but quick to anger – to someone who believed in their capabilities. Perfection wasn’t to be perfect. Initially, authenticity meant more to me ideal outcomes.
Appreciation
I’ll always be grateful to the college leader who took time to understand me when I was an obstinate and emotional young adult, instead of rolling his eyes (in retrospect, I think an eye roll would have been understandable). Not everything is death or glory; I learned that attempts matter even without guarantees of “victory”.
