<Jae Gu Kang A 20-year photographic exploration of South Korea's conscription culture.>

For a long time, I have viewed the camera not merely as a tool for recording, but as a medium that reflects the state of existence and the present time. In particular, portrait photography is not just about preserving outward appearances, but rather about capturing the layers of time and emotion that accumulate within a person. I sought to preserve not only the face and body of the subject, but also the emotions, memories and subtle emotional waves that cannot be easily explained.

I began working on the theme of the military from my own experience as an individual born in South Korea, where mandatory military service is a given. My aim was not simply to document portraits of soldiers, but to construct a narrative around the image of men defined by society's gaze. In South Korea, military service has been a universal duty imposed on men for a long time, even as the country underwent significant historical changes: war, division and rapid industrialization. Simultaneously, it has been accepted as a rite of passage, a given.

However, today, the military represents an uneasy experience for young men who have just come of age, as it forces them to "pause" their lives without their consent. As they approach enlistment, they begin to feel the narrowing of their choices under social expectations, and they must accept the discomfort of having their lives abruptly transformed by external forces.

Enlistment and discharge leave a mark on one's life, like a scar. A boundary forms between those who have served in the military and those who have not, and this boundary often becomes a benchmark for masculinity. Yet, this experience carries not only glory but also profound discomfort and contradiction. In an environment disconnected from society, governed by strict rules and a collective ethos, many men experience the sensation of being reduced to mere cogs in a machine. It is this very point that I wanted to highlight: the fading of individual faces within the military, the bodies constrained by regulations and the fracture between duty and life.

Photography serves as a direct confrontation with this discomfort, acting as a medium that brings to light questions long ignored by our society.

A Private was my first attempt at this. When I placed young men about to enter the training camp in front of the camera, I saw in their eyes a tremor that was hard to articulate. Though they had become adults, their still-young faces were marked by unfamiliarity and anxiety. The emotions they tried to hide were clearly reflected on their faces, and in capturing that expression, I also confronted the tremors of my own youth. A Private became a mirror for myself, an initial step revealing generational anxiety.

The Reservist series followed, focusing on portraits of young men who had completed their military service. Although they appeared outwardly free, the traces left by the military remained visible on their faces. The tightly sealed lips, the distant gaze and the tension lingering in their shoulders all revealed the scars left by the time spent in the military. Although they had returned to society, they were still called "reservists" and thus remained confined to yet another box. Their inner conflicts between the military and society became clearly evident in the portraits.

Portrait Shot stems from a memory I experienced just before completing basic training. Hundreds of recruits lined up on the drill field, all waiting to have their ID photos taken, their bodies posed in the same uniform manner. When my turn came, the soldier holding the camera commanded, "Straighten up! Chin up!" and quickly pressed the shutter. "Next!" he called, without giving me time to prepare. My face, captured in that instant, bore the weight of the tension. Later, assigned to the photo unit, I found myself repeatedly taking ID photos of soldiers. To conserve film, I often captured two or three faces in one frame, cropping them to fit the required size. The faces that were cut off from the frame were discarded, leaving only the names behind.

Portrait Shot is a series born from this experience. Even within the uniformity of military attire and standardized poses, each individual's subtle traces remained. The state tries to bind young men into the mold of soldiers, but the camera calls attention to the fragments of faces and names that almost fade away within it.

12mm returns to the starting point of the military-themed work. This project focuses on the first rite of passage young men experience before entering the military: the moment their hair is shaved short. I, too, experienced this change on the eve of my enlistment, watching the machine's sound as my hair was cut off, feeling the weight of that transformation. The air in that moment was heavy and my mind wavered between fear, expectation, resignation and resolve in the face of the time ahead. Though their heads were shaved to the same length, the emotions revealed on each person's face were different. 12mm shows that even within the rigid system of the military, the unique presence of each individual who has not yet become a soldier remains intact.

This work leads into Eve of Enlistment, which focuses on nude portraits of young men about to be drafted, capturing their transition from civilian life to the military. In an unfamiliar studio, the first time these young men reveal their bodies, their postures, hand gestures and subtly trembling gazes are filled with anxiety, fear and an indescribable tension. The moment before they officially become soldiers is where the time of society and the time of the individual collide head-on. Eve of Enlistment goes beyond physical documentation, serving as a psychological nude that reveals the inner state of these young men.

All of these works are set within the context of the time spent passing through the institution of the military. The records that began with A Private extend through The Reservist, Portrait Shot, 12mm, and Eve of Enlistment, completing a single narrative. The faces of young men before entering the institution of the military change at each moment, and the trajectory of this change intersects with my own memories of youth. The camera, in looking at them, also becomes a mirror reflecting myself. In each photograph, moments are captured where the inner life of the individual, the societal structure and the tension of the times collide.

But this story does not end with the face of the young man. The institution of the military stretches beyond the individual's time, accumulating across generations. The time I spent in military service connects to my experience as a son in a family, which in turn overlaps with that of my brothers. This has led me to reconsider how this institution has been passed down, generation after generation.

The Soldier series is, in the end, my story, my brothers' story and the story of an entire generation. This work bears witness to the weight of time and emotion that society has long demanded from men and young people. Enlistment is not a simple choice, but a collective ritual that has been repeated across generations, one that many have endured through the unwanted gap in time it creates.