David Peter Francis, New York, NY
March 27 - May 3, 2025
David Peter Francis is pleased to present Forecast, a solo exhibition with Berlin-based artist Elizabeth Ravn.
The viewer is behind them. They could be waiting their turn, or trying to eavesdrop on another conversation. I am witnessing a build up and break down—both enacted in subtlety upon the human and architecture surrounding. Layers of history become contact points for surface and structure, where they join in something like a color, or a texture, or a shadow. Ravn shapes semblance without depiction; or is it the other way around?
Today I’m passing by the same place again—it’s more green this time, there is more paint this time, the tree is gone this time, the bar is empty this time. I’m nodding and I’m waving to something, someone, over miles. Maybe I am longing to be in that atmosphere. I think, how do you paint the tender whites of eyes when the people are absent? How to pet a concrete wall with the same hand that caresses a dog? How to attend to the man reading the right-wing newspaper Bild? Every morning—no matter what sprawls in black and white—I take a shit. While more is left neglected, nothing else to do but dump onto the linoleum tiling like the woman in Ravn’s painting. I want to copy this proposed method of attack, hopeless except for my bowels. Ironic too that bild is the German word for image.
Blue-light pictures are gazed at through dreary and slowly-passing winter months. Maybe I turn on the therapy lamp and get some flat-form sun? Groundhog day, distinguished only by those who sit beside us, as we bask in monotonous days. Time and its immeasurable traces appear not only in the contemporary (or not) dress of the figures, but in the depiction of things "past" within counter culture, the urban landscape, living things, and evolving monuments. The abandoned is given the same “incomplete” status that something yet to grow inherits naturally—both have a ways to go. The duration of informal architectures— the home, studio, street, telephone booth, bar, parties, or a friend’s sofa—each rendered through layers of paint, seeing through one layer to another; looking through orange to discover yellow underneath.
— Jacksun Bein
The viewer is behind them. They could be waiting their turn, or trying to eavesdrop on another conversation. I am witnessing a build up and break down—both enacted in subtlety upon the human and architecture surrounding. Layers of history become contact points for surface and structure, where they join in something like a color, or a texture, or a shadow. Ravn shapes semblance without depiction; or is it the other way around?
Today I’m passing by the same place again—it’s more green this time, there is more paint this time, the tree is gone this time, the bar is empty this time. I’m nodding and I’m waving to something, someone, over miles. Maybe I am longing to be in that atmosphere. I think, how do you paint the tender whites of eyes when the people are absent? How to pet a concrete wall with the same hand that caresses a dog? How to attend to the man reading the right-wing newspaper Bild? Every morning—no matter what sprawls in black and white—I take a shit. While more is left neglected, nothing else to do but dump onto the linoleum tiling like the woman in Ravn’s painting. I want to copy this proposed method of attack, hopeless except for my bowels. Ironic too that bild is the German word for image.
Blue-light pictures are gazed at through dreary and slowly-passing winter months. Maybe I turn on the therapy lamp and get some flat-form sun? Groundhog day, distinguished only by those who sit beside us, as we bask in monotonous days. Time and its immeasurable traces appear not only in the contemporary (or not) dress of the figures, but in the depiction of things "past" within counter culture, the urban landscape, living things, and evolving monuments. The abandoned is given the same “incomplete” status that something yet to grow inherits naturally—both have a ways to go. The duration of informal architectures— the home, studio, street, telephone booth, bar, parties, or a friend’s sofa—each rendered through layers of paint, seeing through one layer to another; looking through orange to discover yellow underneath.
— Jacksun Bein
Bild, 2024
Oil on canvas, 39 3/8 x 31 1/2 inches (100 x 80 cm)
Stairwell, 2025
Oil on canvas, 23 5/8 x 19 3/4 inches (60 x 50 cm)
Cubbyhole, 2025
Oil on canvas, 43 1/4 x 35 3/8 inches (110 x 90 cm)
Biergarten, 2025
Oil on canvas, 35 3/8 x 29 1/2 inches (90 x 75 cm)
Banner Makers, 2025
Oil on canvas, 23 5/8 × 31 1/2 inches (60 × 80 cm)
Seventeenth of May, 2025
Oil on canvas, 43 1/4 x 35 3/8 inches (110 x 90 cm)
Sidewalk Sprouts, 2025
Oil on canvas, 19 3/4 x 15 3/4 inches (50 x 40 cm)
Punk with Belgrade Hand, 2025
Oil on canvas, 25 5/8 x 21 5/8 inches (65 x 55 cm)
Between Us, 2025
Oil on canvas, 19 3/4 x 15 3/4 inches (50 x 40 cm)
November, 2024
Oil on canvas, 43 1/4 x 35 3/8 inches (110 x 90 cm)
Frauke, 2025
Oil on canvas, 25 5/8 x 21 5/8 inches (65 x 55 cm)
Telephone, 2024
Oil on canvas, 27 1/2 x 19 3/4 inches (70 x 50 cm)
Oil on canvas, 39 3/8 x 31 1/2 inches (100 x 80 cm)
Stairwell, 2025
Oil on canvas, 23 5/8 x 19 3/4 inches (60 x 50 cm)
Cubbyhole, 2025
Oil on canvas, 43 1/4 x 35 3/8 inches (110 x 90 cm)
Biergarten, 2025
Oil on canvas, 35 3/8 x 29 1/2 inches (90 x 75 cm)
Banner Makers, 2025
Oil on canvas, 23 5/8 × 31 1/2 inches (60 × 80 cm)
Seventeenth of May, 2025
Oil on canvas, 43 1/4 x 35 3/8 inches (110 x 90 cm)
Sidewalk Sprouts, 2025
Oil on canvas, 19 3/4 x 15 3/4 inches (50 x 40 cm)
Punk with Belgrade Hand, 2025
Oil on canvas, 25 5/8 x 21 5/8 inches (65 x 55 cm)
Between Us, 2025
Oil on canvas, 19 3/4 x 15 3/4 inches (50 x 40 cm)
November, 2024
Oil on canvas, 43 1/4 x 35 3/8 inches (110 x 90 cm)
Frauke, 2025
Oil on canvas, 25 5/8 x 21 5/8 inches (65 x 55 cm)
Telephone, 2024
Oil on canvas, 27 1/2 x 19 3/4 inches (70 x 50 cm)