Shroud No. 61
signed (lower right)
oil on canvas
48" x 72" (122 cm x 183 cm)

Accompanied by a certificate issued by The Metro Gallery and signed by the artist confirming the authenticity of this lot

EXHIBITED: The Metro Gallery, Setback, San Juan, April - May 2018


The shroud has enjoyed a long history of use and symbolism throughout history and across multiple cultures. The origins of the shroud can be traced back to ancient times, with evidence of its use for protective, ritualistic, and most commonly, burial practices. The ancient Egyptians, for instance, wrapped their mummified bodies in linen shrouds, believing in their protective powers in the afterlife. Similarly, other civilizations, including the Greeks and Romans, adopted the practice of shrouding their deceased with fine fabrics. Another early use of a shroud can be found within the pre-colonial nations of North America where it was common practice to wrap the deceased in animal skin, while across the Pacific, Aboriginals were practicing something similar with animal skins, wild herbs, and flowers. It is thus no surprise that often associated with burial, has been woven into the tapestry of religious, scientific, and artistic discourse. Many objects of importance and works of art have concerned themselves with the mysterious allure of the shroud. From relics such as the Shroud of Turin and the Sudarium of Oviedo, to more recent pieces such as Shirazeh Houshiary’s 2000 piece titled Shroud. One might see humanity’s shared interest in the use of the shroud as an act of concealment. But, in true dialectical fashion, one can argue that the things we conceal, in turn, reveal something else. In our attempt to conceal the dead, one might suggest that such an act is an act born out of a fear of losing one’s humanity. Whether one ascribes our innate uniqueness in the chain of being towards our souls, minds, or rationality, it is often painstakingly clear that in death, whatever that is is now gone. In the use of the shroud we reveal our insecurities, our vulnerabilities. But Dino Gabito’s now iconic use of the shroud in his artistic practice has seemingly turned a perceived fear over its head. Unlike most popular iterations of the shroud, whether for ritualistic or aesthetic purposes, Gabito’s shroud is depicted as dynamic, moving, almost as if it were alive. Such an approach is arguably uncommon, if not novel. In doing so, Gabito seemingly suggests that our humanity is located not in what separates us from other beings, but in our awareness that much like everything else, we are vulnerable as well. Gabito’s shroud no longer exists to conceal, but to reveal that even in our most vulnerable states we are bursting through the seams. (J.D.)