Umbrellas, passing time, and community

 How do we know where we fit in?

The world is a busy place. Society is a busy crowd. If you stop for a moment, people aren't going to wait for you to catch along. Or will they?

What drew me to the painting "The Umbrellas" that we analyzed in class today was the overwhelming sense of community. Hear me out.

There are so many umbrellas. Dimensionally, in the front, in the back, over heads, above top hats... but how do none of them collide? How does everyone just know where to walk and where to hold their umbrellas so that they're each in planes just slightly different and separate from each other? The man in the right corner with the top hat, I thought, was the underdog/hero of this artwork. Him, holding his own umbrella farther from his head so as to make room for the people below him (also holding umbrellas), his arm upwardly stretching and sacrificing his comfort in the process so he can make way for the others around him.

After the final bell rang after class, I was still thinking about it... and I noticed parallels nearly immediately (living in a painting? jk), in the school hallways. Just hear me out again.

Amidst the cadence of passing period traffic, I’ve mastered the tempo of weaving in and out of crowds, clinging onto the backpack handle of the person in front of me who remains unaware of his support to a stranger. I love the chaos and the choreography and direction it requires, of artfully choosing when to seize space, of overlapping arms, and a collective squeeze of letting one more person in. There aren't as many people as selfless as the man with the top hat, I will admit... different time periods, I guess. Nevertheless, marching towards the main staircase and forging across intersections, each of my peers seem to know exactly where to be, and exactly where to go. The bustling crowd perfectly clears a path for me, and everyone else around me, just when we need it most.

Everyone hates traffic, I know. But sometimes even in the most frustrating things there can be small glimpses of joy. I'd even go as far to say a comradery (except for when people cut me off- but that's an exception we won't consider in this idealist perspective). In the painting, today, rushing towards the never-ending hallway, in the school parking lot, at Shibuya Crossing, in Times Square... there exists community in the commotion. With every person not acting as an individual, but rather each as a puzzle piece or a tile of a mosaic, we begin to work towards something shared, something to which everyone contributes, something complete.