third year nicolas horne

Look at the picture above. No one was asked to be apart of it. Most are clueless to the notion that a photo is being captured. They all just happened to be at this spot, on this bridge, at this moment—the photographer presses the shutter. The composition could never be captured quite the same, even if it tried. Those involved have no relation to the cause; it is nothing more than an accident—a harmonious accident.

At first glance, things look as if they are in disorder. People are rushing past in opposite directions, all on their own way with their own goals. Zoom in closer. Look at the faces of the picture; really look. Notice how unique they are. On a few, you can see visible emotion. Some of them are tired, others are in a rush to get somewhere, and others, still, are just taking it all in. It doesn’t matter who they are, where they are going, or how they got in this moment. All that matters is that they are here together.

“Here” is the Brooklyn Bridge, a supremely recognizable landmark for America. A place that is supposed to offer a chance to anyone under its flag—a place where individuals are supposed to come together to create something that means more than any respective one of themselves. A lot like this picture, it doesn’t matter who those people are, it doesn’t matter where those people are going, and it doesn’t matter how they got to this place—America itself is an accident. The disorder is our harmony. It should not be what tears us apart. It should be what keeps us together.

Harmonious Disorder