Era
Seoul
South Korea, 2018

Along advertisements, tiles, arrows and beeps you move through the metro, and then suddenly there’s one of those metal cabinets with glass and pictograms. Most of the time there’s at least a fire extinguisher inside, and often other things you can use immediately if there’s fire or smoke. Nearby you’ll find ways to call for help, or to light up the surroundings.

The city gets reduced to a handful of actions. Break the glass or open the flap, grab the extinguisher, pull the pin, aim. Press that one button, speak into a speaker. Switch the light on, and that neutral computer voice instructing you as if nothing is happening, precisely because something could be happening. It’s the language of protocol, but also a kind of trust in the public. Not everything is locked behind doors. It’s there, ready, because someone might need it. And the density of the city becomes almost literal, not only on the platform itself, but also in city maps and in digital apps that keep leading you back to the same simple promise: if something goes wrong, there is help available, and it’s close.