The Room on Fire
2023-Ongoing
This project documents South Korea’s Gen Z, confined by societal pressure. Through portraits of rooms and bodies, it captures their silent struggles, resistance, and desire to escape, giving visibility to the unseen.
This project visualizes the social oppression and silence endured by South Korea’s younger generation, particularly Gen Z, through photography. Today, Gen Z is often portrayed by older generations as rude, selfish, and and overly dependent on technology. However, I wanted to look beyond that superficial narrative.
I see contemporary Korean society as deeply collectivist, where subtle yet pervasive social pressures encourage conformity to a singular ideal of success. Those who struggle to keep pace or deviate from expected paths are often labeled as inadequate and pushed to the margins. A growing number of young people have become what is known as "은둔 청년(Eundun Cheongnyeon)", socially withdrawn youth. Similar to the Japanese phenomenon of “Hikikomori”, these individuals isolate themselves from society for extended periods, remaining confined to their rooms and avoiding school, work, and social interactions.
Their withdrawal is not simply a matter of laziness or unwillingness to participate. Rather, it is often a response to systemic pressures: relentless academic competition, an unforgiving job market, and the constant fear of social judgment. This project asks a difficult question: Who locked these doors? The answer is complex. No single person or institution is responsible. Rather, it emerges from the interaction of individual struggles, family expectations, peer pressures, and broader social structures.
I met those who felt suffocated by unspoken pressures and the invisible coercion so characteristic of Korean life. Some were preparing to leave the country in search of a different future. Others had retreated entirely into their rooms, unable to endure the pressure any longer. I wanted to witness what often remains unseen and to listen to those living in silence.
Each space became a landscape, and each body a map of resistance, survival, or retreat. Some spaces contained dreams of escape; others revealed the quiet resilience required simply to endure. Ultimately, this project serves as both a portrait and a testimony to those rendered invisible by the speed, expectations, and pressures of contemporary Korean society.
I see contemporary Korean society as deeply collectivist, where subtle yet pervasive social pressures encourage conformity to a singular ideal of success. Those who struggle to keep pace or deviate from expected paths are often labeled as inadequate and pushed to the margins. A growing number of young people have become what is known as "은둔 청년(Eundun Cheongnyeon)", socially withdrawn youth. Similar to the Japanese phenomenon of “Hikikomori”, these individuals isolate themselves from society for extended periods, remaining confined to their rooms and avoiding school, work, and social interactions.
Their withdrawal is not simply a matter of laziness or unwillingness to participate. Rather, it is often a response to systemic pressures: relentless academic competition, an unforgiving job market, and the constant fear of social judgment. This project asks a difficult question: Who locked these doors? The answer is complex. No single person or institution is responsible. Rather, it emerges from the interaction of individual struggles, family expectations, peer pressures, and broader social structures.
I met those who felt suffocated by unspoken pressures and the invisible coercion so characteristic of Korean life. Some were preparing to leave the country in search of a different future. Others had retreated entirely into their rooms, unable to endure the pressure any longer. I wanted to witness what often remains unseen and to listen to those living in silence.
Each space became a landscape, and each body a map of resistance, survival, or retreat. Some spaces contained dreams of escape; others revealed the quiet resilience required simply to endure. Ultimately, this project serves as both a portrait and a testimony to those rendered invisible by the speed, expectations, and pressures of contemporary Korean society.
