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“I am young person growing up during an age with war, dishonesty, discrimination, racial bias, sexism. But no one appear outraged by these issues. Many view the slight advances in social equality as solutions to our issues entirely though that isn’t enough.”

It’s March 2015, I believed I’ve solved social injustice. Standing in the basement room of Modern Art Oxford during a local round in a public speaking contest, I truly believe that I may have had presented the audience with adults and educators to the idea of feminism. I’m very pleased of my performance.

The Contest

This speaking award is a competition for post-GCSE students, aged 16 to 19, where participants get 10 minutes to deliver on a work of art of their choice. I learned about it from the leader of my college, whose office I frequently visited shortly prior to the competition. As a pupil, I was clever though talkative and often unfocused. I felt everything acutely and was frequently overwhelmed and tearful.

I also took a binary approach to my education: either be the best or don’t bother. In the office, we discussed my decision to abandon history AS-level soon after beginning it thinking it impossible to achieve completing it top graded. Life isn’t is death or glory,” he urged.

A Chance

Along with my patient art teacher, the head of sixth form saw that the competition proved exactly the opportunity that I needed – after all I loved art AS-level, and proved outspoken within of the school’s rag-tag debate club. He suggested I prepare something for a preliminary school-level round. From memory, it seems anyone else applied.

Selecting a Topic

I chose to speak on the artist’s medicine cabinets, which I had seen during an exhibit at Tate Modern (the poster of which remains posted on my wall behind my desk). I encountered Hirst’s work initially as a child visiting Ilfracombe, the north Devon town where my grandmother had grown up, and where Hirst operated an eatery, its name, full of preserved fish, and walls covered covered in pills. I loved that the art seemed humorous and rebellious, and that he got away with calling whatever he wanted “art”. It amused me my grandmother hated it. Above all, I enjoyed that, since the artwork took titles from after tracks from a punk record, I could say “Sex” (Band name) repeatedly during the talk. I truly was the most radical young thinker of my generation.

The Result

At the regional heat, there were nine other speakers, each presenting more refined cultural context, offered less unsupported, broad claims, and said “nonsense” less. I was awarded third place. As a teenager who tied most of her self-worth on achievement, this would usually have been a crushing blow. Yet then, that people appreciated my talk, and had laughed precisely where I had wanted, proved sufficient.

Fresh Directions

By the time the organizers asked to present once more, now during an event at the British Museum, I submitted my paperwork to study history of art at university. Prior to this, I assumed I’d choose for English or German, not considering top universities, believing there I would never be “top ranked”. But the competition boosted my courage and made me believe that my views deserved expression, even when I didn’t speak the lingo. I no longer required to be the best: I just needed to put my spin on things.

Finding Purpose

Discussing creativity – and learning how to entertain audiences during presentations – soon turned into my guiding light. This contest experience completed itself upon returning recently to be the first graduate judge of an Articulation heat.

The competition gave me confidence outside academics: not that I could achieve major feats, but that I didn’t have to. I no longer needed to covet perfection; I needed to lean into personal expression. I went from being anxious and easily overcome – passionate but quick to anger – into a person trusting in their capabilities. Perfection wasn’t necessary. Initially, authenticity meant more to me than flawlessness.

Gratitude

I remain thankful to the sixth-form head who made the effort to comprehend me when I was an obstinate and emotional teenager, instead of rolling his eyes (in retrospect, some irritation would have been understandable). Life isn’t is absolute success or failure; I learned that it is often worth trying without requiring the promise of “victory”.