Galeria Maior: Genealogies of Care and Persistence
Galeria Maior
Essay for the 35th Anniversary Catalogue
Summer 2025
When Galeria Maior opened its doors in September 1990, I hadn’t been born yet. I belong to a generation that grew up without assuming things would last, without fully trusting institutions, and — as we trained and turned professional — without knowing for sure whether the art world, galleries included, would be a livable space for us. In the face of that structural fragility, some projects have endured. Among them, few have been as coherent, quietly radical, and necessary as Maior. This generational distance allows me to grasp, at least partially, the magnitude, trajectory, and consistency of Jero Martínez’s gallery project. A pioneer — one of the first women in Spain to open a gallery — she has achieved three major milestones from an insular context.
The first has been decentralizing culture in Mallorca. On an island where most cultural activity has historically been concentrated in Palma, and although the gallery maintained a space in the city for many years, its consistent presence in the north of the island has functioned as a beacon for contemporary art. Its archive shows how the gallery became a meeting place, how artists, curators, and writers would gather at its openings before continuing to build their respective careers.
The second has been the ability to sustain long-term relationships with the artists she represents. It’s a gallery model based on accompaniment, on growing and evolving together, side by side. This is deeply valuable in an art world increasingly driven by the urgency of production cycles, by speed, and — as a result — the frequent burnout of relationships between young artists and the galleries that momentarily promote their work.
The third, and the one I’d like to focus on more closely, is the consistent presence of women artists in the gallery’s programming. This presence cannot be overlooked, especially when we are still witnesses — and at times complicit — in structural imbalance. The so-called gender balance in the art world is still far from being a reality. What role might women like Jero Martínez — who open their own galleries and program with a bravery sustained over time — play in addressing this issue?
When these three achievements of Maior come together, what we see is a project rooted in perseverance and a deep commitment to contemporary art — something that must be closely observed and celebrated on this anniversary. Now that the gallery turns 35, what interests me is not simply looking back and commemorating what has been, but asking what kinds of genealogies we can trace from the present.
I am especially interested in maternal lineages — those that, as Mira Schor pointed out, have not been sufficiently inscribed in art history, because critical writing, curating, and institutional leadership have long been framed in terms of paternity.
But there are mothers — and perhaps one of the most urgent tasks for those of us who write, curate, or program is to search for them, and to learn how to name them. In this sense, Galeria Maior constitutes both a fertile archive and a maternal lineage in itself — a gallery founded and sustained by a woman who has made care and persistence her tools of practice. There is something in her gesture — holding space quietly, programming with depth, and resisting with elegance — that offers many of us a viable model.
*Excerpt from the catalogue essay.