I was introduced to the work of Charles Long at almost the exact moment I was introduced to Charles Long the person, though both introductions came with degrees of distance.
The work—compiled in an online gallery managed by Long—was sent to me by the artist in the early minutes of our phone conversation. Long simply emailed me the hyperlink, no foreword, no context. The art could answer for itself.
I browsed and scrutinized as we spoke, his opinions (strong and clear) and his activist history informing my perception of the images (and vice versa).
I had access to the art, and to the voice and attention of Long, without having to leave my apartment. There wasn’t a gallery I needed to walk into to familiarize myself with Long’s art, and my experience of the work was moderated by the artist in real time. In one way it felt uniquely personal: I had a private viewing arranged for me. I got to sit in the luxury box, no need to rub elbows with the usual crowd.
To have this kind of relationship to Long’s art could potentially lessen the impact of the work. I soon discovered there was something in this VIP experience that is antithetical to Long’s notions about what successful art should do.
The first piece of Long's to catch my eye was a 2012 work entitled CLEAN (the first iteration of this piece has been lost in Long's move from one city to another). It might have been the directness of the text that demanded attention: the piece is constructed from wood, yarn, nails and the curiously decontextualized but specifically identified "used video booth cards" which have been cut out into the letters C L E A N.
The red yarn is draped over the text like playful blood (the “N” is nearly completely covered).