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The centerpiece of this exhibition is an installation that shares its name. It consists of sixty porcelain daggers that embody the Indigenous design and technology of the Lingít but are decorated with Russian ceramic patterns. Bone white and beautiful, their designs are almost as intricate as Fabergé's.
These are not laid on satin, as they might be in a museum section dedicated to ancient weaponry, but suspended from the ceiling in an elaborate pattern using invisible wires. Their shadows look like they're dancing. In the wall test, Galanin says of these metaphorically weighty works: "If these daggers break, their destruction would produce sharp projectiles and edges, rendering new forms to use as tools or weapons."
There's also a giant polar bear. (2015) sees ursine taxidermy melting into a rug and a streaming ribbon, seeming to yowl in silent admonition of the unfortunate relationship between nature and decor. A newer taxidermy piece (2022) places a wolf on the ceiling and in a time-lapse video that shows the landscape moving beyond it. It's a good demonstration of Galanin's maturity over the seven years between which these works were made. The earlier work is as angry as the bear. This new one is expansive, inviting us to identify with the wolf as victims of this modern world ourselves.
Galanin is one to watch. He participated in the 2017 Venice Biennale but withdrew a sound piece from the infamous 2019 Whitney Biennial over the museum's ties to Warren Kanders . His new show in Baltimore is a good encapsulation of the art world's politics over the past decade—and perhaps also where they're headed.
