Average

Exhibition view, Tin Amsterdam

Average, 2026
Oil / gouache on postcard. 19 paintings, each ca. 15 × 10 cm

A palm tree on a beach; a fir in the mountains. On a postcard, the destination appears in its most familiar form. Typical houses, typical landscapes, typical plants. We already know the image before the postcard arrives.

In the series Average, only the iconic plants of a place remain visible; the rest of the postcard is painted over with the average colour of the image. A second postcard from the same place, cut into four pieces, is glued to the side of the small paintings.

Average, 26.03 – 5.04.2026,
Tin, Amsterdam

Supported by Mondriaan Fonds

Average (The Overseas Highway), 2026
Average (Wawona Tree Tunnel), 2026
Average (Locarno 2), 2026
Average (The Switzerland of America), (California Mountains), (Rocky Mountains), 2025
Average (Locarno 1)
Average (Lugano Paradiso), 2026
Average (Bergheim im Härggis), 2026
Average (Ristorante San Gottardo), 2026
Average (Kashmir), 2026
Average (Locarno Muralto), 2026
Average (Los Angeles), 2026
Average (Albergo Monte Fiorito), 2026

No Surprises in Rome

I thought I had never been in Rome before. And yet, upon arriving, I was not sure anymore. I was, in fact, sure I’ve been here already and only forgot when and with whom and where exactly. 

We were a group of people sleeping in a monastery at night, eating Italian pastries in the morning, drinking Aperol in the evening. During the days, we did city tours—but cool ones, with artists and squats and things like that. On one of these tours, we ended up sitting on beige gravel between parked cars, looking down at one of the many famous ruins of Rome. The ruin was slightly elevated on a small hill. In between the remnants of walls grew pine trees, taller than the remnants, taller than any pine trees I’ve ever seen before. The trees looked like what we actually should look at, the ruins around setting the scene for them. Somebody told us how they were threatened by climate change. I realized I was hungry. My thoughts drifted, and I stopped to listen. Soon after, we stood up and continued the tour. 

After we left Rome, the sureness of having been there before left me again. I thought that maybe I had rather been in another Italian city, somewhat similar in its depictions. The heat of other summer days and the heat of these days in Rome became one, and with impressions melting together, the city I’ve just visited became a city I have seen before; in family WhatsApp groups and Instagram posts from ex-lovers, on postcards with greetings and descriptions of heat. 

– Juri Velt, 2026