The difference between Art and War is profound. Though separated by just one letter, their essence diverges radically. While one fosters life, the other brings destruction. War must never become the new normal; tragedy cannot be woven into the fabric of our daily lives. The power of art to counteract tragedy with empathy and the remarkable resilience displayed by humanity deserves emphatic reiteration. In an era marked by the widespread presence of war and conflict, as seen in the Ukraine-Russia war, tensions between Israel and Palestine, Taiwan and China, and South and North Korea, the role of art requires urgent contemplation.

In Yokohama, a city interlaced with the lives of people from 110 nationalities, the 8th Yokohama Triennale unfolds. Titled Wild Grass: Our Lives, this edition draws inspiration from Lu Xun's century-old book Wild Grass (1927), penned during the tumultuous years of 1924-26 in Chinese history. With Beijing-based Liu Ding and Carol Yinghua Lu as artistic directors, the exhibition's theme is deeply influenced by Xun’s views on the cosmos and life, representing an unbridled vitality that is untamed, indomitable, rebellious, self-driven, and always ready to stand its ground. As such, the exhibition explores the roots and navigates the complex web of war, environmental crisis, economic disparities, and the corrosive effects of nationalist-fueled intolerance.

Among the array of installations, Repeat After Me (2022-2023) by Open Group stands out as a harrowing exploration of the auditory essence of conflict. In a temporary camp in Lviv, refugees from Eastern Ukraine articulate the language of war not through words, but through a haunting replication of its sounds. This piece transforms into a deeply affecting lesson on survival, whispered in the cadences of conflict itself. Listening becomes a form of resistance, a recognition of the resilient human spirit confronting the shadow of annihilation. The work reflects on our collective numbness to the distant reverberations of war, calling for a heightened awareness of the subtle currents of strife that flow through our existence. It is an artwork that breaks down the walls of apathy, drawing forth the streams of human resilience and a pressing call for peace. With Open Group’s Repeat After Me, the Triennale itself becomes an expansive gallery of contemplation, where the whispers of ‘Wild Grass’ entwine with the pulse of our lives, urging us to navigate today's challenges with eyes wide open and hearts attuned to the rhythms of change and continuity.

Rewinding to the 2011 Korean Pavilion at the Venice Biennale, my memory vividly latches onto an unforgettable sight: floral-patterned military uniforms, strung up like laundry in a striking display atop the pavilion, accompanied by a captivating video installation that documented performers clad in these striking ensembles. In Lee Yong-baek’s Angel Soldier (2011) we are drawn into a world where the boundaries of perception and reality blur, challenging us to discern the unseen amidst the overt. Yong-baek’s soldiers, draped in floral camouflage, inhabit a realm where the dichotomies of nature versus artifice, and the virtual versus the real, dissolve into a nuanced exploration of existence within information-saturated environments. Incorporating influences from the avant-garde performances to the political aesthetics of flower power and the democratic movements of Korea, Angel Soldier captures the zeitgeist of its era, where the act of survival becomes a form of art, and the struggle for breath becomes a poignant reminder of our shared humanity. In this landscape, Yong-baek’s soldiers, neither entirely visible nor fully hidden, stand as a masterful critique of modern life, a reflection on the fluidity of existence in a world where the lines between the self and the other, between the oppressor and the oppressed, are constantly redrawn.

Another Korean artist, Seungmo Park, transforms the scars left by bullets into a monumental sculpture in Insight into the true nature of reality (2018). This piece arose from Park's exploration of the remnants of the Korean Workers’ Party Headquarters in Cheorwon—a spectre from the past in South Korea's northern frontier. The artwork embodies a paradox by magnifying bullet wounds and casting their shapes in fibreglass, revealing the aggressive forms created by bullets in walls, where scars of violence become the medium. This visual duality does not discriminate between aggressor and victim; instead, it merges them into a singular entity, reflecting the cyclical curse of violence where roles perpetually interchange. In this space, Park articulates a poignant critique of historical narrative and human nature, urging a contemplation beyond the dichotomies of guilt and innocence. Park's work is not just an exploration of physical space but an introspective journey into the depths of the collective psyche and the scars that history leaves in its wake.

The wounds of war are a pain beyond words. In Erkan Özgen's video Wonderland (2016), the suffering of humanity is expressed through the silent experiences of a young refugee named Mohammed, a 13-year-old boy from the war-torn city of Kobani. Deaf and mute, Mohammed communicates not with words, but through the poignant language of his movements. With the poise of a dancer and the raw energy of a tempest, he navigates through the maelstrom of his memories, a landscape where joy and horror intertwine with the innocence of childhood caught in the crossfire. There is no overt sadness in his performance, no tears to underscore the tragedy. Instead, Mohammed embodies the resilience of the human spirit, its capacity to endure and remember, even when the words are lost. This is the crux of Özgen’s exploration: the challenge of conveying the depth of war’s trauma to those for whom such horrors are unimaginable. Here, Wonderland is no idyllic retreat but a realm where the unspoken horrors of war and displacement demand a voice.

These works challenge us to see beyond the silence, to hear the stories that bodies tell when words fail, and to acknowledge human resilience in the face of unspeakable adversities. Let these stories inspire us to recognise the unseen, acknowledge the indomitable spirit of humanity, and foster a deeper empathy and connection in a world in need of understanding.

(Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed here are those of the author(s) and do not necessarily reflect the official position of STIR or its Editors.)