The Gwangju Biennale, one of Asia’s most prestigious contemporary art exhibitions, has once again ignited heated debate—this time over its thematic focus on "non-human-centric" artworks. Titled "Soft and Weak Like Water," the 2023 edition has drawn both admiration and criticism for its radical departure from anthropocentric narratives, challenging visitors to reconsider humanity’s dominance in ecological, technological, and even spiritual discourses. While some hail the curatorial vision as groundbreaking, others accuse it of obscurity or even ideological posturing.

At the heart of the controversy is the biennale’s insistence on decentralizing human experience. Installations like Lee Bul’s cyborg landscapes and Pierre Huyghe’s bioengineered ecosystems deliberately blur boundaries between organic and artificial life. One particularly divisive piece, "The Last Breath" by collective Rimini Protokoll, uses AI to simulate the dying gasps of extinct species—a visceral experience that left some audiences in tears while others dismissed it as sentimental exploitation. "It’s not about human guilt or redemption," curator Defne Ayas told press, "but about listening to voices we’ve systematically silenced."

Critics argue that the exhibition’s philosophical underpinnings often eclipse artistic merit. Conservative art columnist Jung Min-ho lambasted the show as "a pseudo-intellectual carnival where concept trumps craft," pointing to works like a room filled with chirping cricket sensors that allegedly prioritized activism over aesthetics. Meanwhile, tech ethicists have questioned the irony of using advanced AI—a human invention—to critique human exceptionalism. "These artists still rely on human-created infrastructure to make their anti-humanist statements," noted Seoul National University professor Kim Eun-ji during a panel discussion.

Yet defenders counter that such contradictions are precisely the point. The biennale’s co-artistic director, Li Zhenhua, emphasized how the exhibition intentionally inhabits paradoxes—showcasing, for instance, a robotic dog reciting Buddhist sutras about impermanence. "We’re not offering solutions but creating spaces for uncomfortable questions," he said during a walkthrough. This approach has resonated with younger visitors; social media buzz highlights TikTok videos of participants interacting with Hito Steyerl’s drone-powered installation critiquing surveillance capitalism.

The political dimension remains unavoidable in Gwangju, a city synonymous with South Korea’s democratic uprising. Local activists have embraced the biennale’s thematic throughline connecting environmental justice with human rights struggles. However, tensions flared when a video work documenting AI analysis of protest chants was interpreted by some as trivializing the 1980 Gwangju Massacre. The artist, Park Chan-kyong, clarified that the piece aimed to explore "how machines might misinterpret collective trauma"—a nuance lost in viral outrage.

Financial backers have also faced scrutiny. While the Hyundai Cultural Foundation’s sponsorship aligns with its recent eco-friendly branding, environmental groups note the irony of an auto manufacturer funding art about post-industrial collapse. Such complexities mirror global tensions in institutional art, where radical themes often coexist with corporate patronage. "The biennale isn’t immune to the systems it critiques," admitted assistant curator Moon So-young, "but it creates platforms to interrogate those very contradictions."

As attendance numbers break records, the debate extends beyond art circles. Theologians have weighed in on installations referencing animist traditions, while robotics labs cite the exhibition in ethics white papers. What emerges is less a unified statement than a prismatic reflection of our era’s anxieties—about climate change, artificial intelligence, and the very purpose of creativity in a post-human age. Whether history remembers this edition as visionary or vapid may depend less on the artworks themselves than on how society answers the questions they provoke.