by admin
Old signs and antiques visible through the iron bars. The act of pawning something as collateral itself becomes a metaphor, in the nighttime landscape of a Korean outskirts pawnshop.
The frame of a transaction. A relationship of giving and receiving something. The desperation of the lower social strata.
A 24-hour pawnshop in the back alleys of Yeongdeungpo. The owner is a man in his 50s, with rumors that he offers 'special deals' after 11 PM. The safe room is thoroughly soundproofed.
Pawn shop owner sitting behind bulletproof glass. Items are pushed through a small hole under the window, and money comes out. Glass display case with jewelry and watches under fluorescent lights, and behind the curtain—what's there? A suggestive question: 'Is the item the only thing you're pawning?'
The vault room behind the thick iron door. Shelves lining the walls are filled with categorized watches, jewelry, luxury bags, and antiques. The value of this room is tens of billions—but its perfect soundproofing is the more important value. When the iron door closes, the outside world is completely cut off.
A small living space behind the pawnshop. Old sofa, TV, electric kettle. The pawnshop owner's private area, where customers absolutely cannot enter—usually. When you turn off the shop's fluorescent lights and enter the back room, the formal relationship of the pawnshop changes to something else.