Paris

Dario Robleto

Praz-Delavallade | Paris

DARIO ROBLETO CONSIDERS HIMSELF A KIND OF DJ: “What I do,” he once told me, “is mix records.” But the San Antonio-based sculptor's expression is not displayed on the wheels of steel; his preferred sculptural medium is melted records. Still, he chooses his tracks just as carefully as any other DJ. His conceit is that the meaning of the music, maybe even the music itself, remains implicit in the mute vinyl, even after it's been transformed into something no longer recognizable as a record—as if to claim that a person's soul must be reembodied in the flowers that have sprouted from his corpse.

Such transubstantiation is hard to verify, but luckily, post-Conceptual art can rely on something more tangible than mere faith: captions. Robleto's works, like those of Cornelia Parker and Joe Scanlon, among others, would be incomplete without their captions—bodies without souls, you might

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