About Galanka

Galanka is a post-anthropocenic painter whose work stage the unresolved fracture between human desire and the untamed. Through hybrid beings and ritual mutations, he unfolds the Wildate mythology — a landscape of thresholds, where instinct resurfaces through borrowed faces.

Each painting acts as a rite of rewilding — a return to what resists, to what cannot be entirely named. Where beauty fractures. Where the mask becomes an organ. Where the face loses its innocence.

In this theatre of metamorphoses,

the mask grants the right

to speak to the living.

(Galanka,2025)

Self-portrait, Wildate cycle — Galanka, 2025

I haven’t always worn a mask.

Before Galanka, I was just someone who wanted to create, explore. I was already drawing as a kid. Later, I painted - under the rough wind of the North Sea. I searched for shapes, for worlds, for faces, for colors.

I was already trying to understand what happens between us and nature — in that shift we now call the Anthropocene. I didn’t know it yet. No method. But it was here. And I believed in it, for a while. I thought it would be my path.

But the more I pushed forward, rushed, even, the more I got hurt. I hit my limits. I couldn’t see what they saw. That colorblindness - it stopped me. When I had to name, justify, be “precise.” Be like the others. And into the weight they put on the shoulders of those who want to show things. I lost the strength. Everything dropped. So I gave it up. Completely. And for twenty years, I lived differently. No brushes. No canvas. Just silence.

But something stayed. Silent. Not done speaking.

I couldn’t tell you what sparked it again. Not a click. Not a specific encounter. A slow boil. A tension rising quietly, until it finally burst. I started painting again. Not to come back. Not to prove anything. Just because I couldn’t stop anymore.

And that’s when Galanka appeared.

Not as a name. But as a form. Aversion of me that felt more honest, more free, more distant. Far from visual norms - where color becomes a language, not a filter. The mask came, naturally. White. Animal-like. Without eyes.

It helps me step back. To let the gesture speak first. The cry. The tension.

Now, I’m working inside a world I call wildate. It’s a fracture. Between what we were, what we’ve changed, and what we’re awkwardly trying to find again. I’m not waving a flag. But I know what I paint. Beasts too close. Figures too human, or too altered. Hybrid bodies caught in between. Scenes where something has happened — but you’re too late. What I show is a threshold. Where something snapped between us and what we thought we ruled. The edge of the post-human. I’m stretching a thread. I don’t say where it leads. But what moves through me is the question of what’s left, when we’ve nearly wrecked it all.

Galanka, 2025