Robert Longo’s large and bleak 8-foot-tall charcoal drawings of American iconography and tragedy fill the halls of the Baker/Rowland Galleries at the Milwaukee Art Museum. In the gallery there are distant sounds of war and a somber silence among its visitors. These drawings depict striking images of protest, war, and beautiful dresses. It’s almost as if I’m at a funeral. There is a collective sadness at the historical depictions of the world that fill the gallery. With glass covering the drawings, we are forced to see our own reflection in these scenes as well. The glass acts as a sad mirror into violent acts that haunt our world.

        Longo reflects on this violence through reimaginings of historical acts in “The Acceleration of History.” Consisting of videos, large charcoal drawings, and sculptures, the exhibition spans nearly 10 years of his creative effort. An important part of Longo’s history is a photo captured at a Kent State University protest. The photo by John Filo depicts a woman mourning over the body of an unarmed student, Jeffrey Miller.¹ The protest was in response to the U.S. and its growing involvement in the Vietnam war. The protest escalated and saw the Ohio National Guard shooting and killing four unarmed students, including Miller, who was a classmate of Longo. The impact of the photo on him can be directly tied to the nature of his work.

        As I walk past the dark, hyper-realistic charcoal drawings of things like Rams player Kenny Britt and the Insurrection at the U.S. Capitol, there are sounds of destruction bouncing through the corners of the gallery. It’s hard to tell where they are from. Are they from the drawings themselves? Have the portraits of protest suddenly come to life? Is this part of the installation? Have I lost it? Then, when I turn a corner, I realize where these sounds are coming from. Playing in a private screening room is Icarus Rising, one of two video pieces Longo selected for the exhibition. What I expected to see were clips from a protest or war. But as I pull the curtain of the screening room back, I see what the noise was: paper. The video shows various media images being ripped apart. I have been duped. My brain had naturally associated the sound of ripping paper to match what I had been seeing. But what is presented to me in Icarus Rising are images of various political figures, moments, and iconography being shredded in different ways.

        The images in the video are all black and white. The camera is very close to them. The sound is loud enough to echo through a gallery. The sounds scare me at times, however as I sit for longer, I became accustomed to them. They appear to me as a reflection of the news cycle—as we are blasted with information, we become complacent. The news becomes less important or captivating, much like the sounds of paper ripping in Icarus Rising. The video also reflects on the turnover rate of the media cycle. Hot stories become a focal point until the media can fixate on another. There’s no time to digest the news in full. There’s only enough time to become worried about the story—and then again at the next one. Every day we are getting news of orders by the current administration. Whether it is using only birth-assigned sex as a basis for a person’s identity and eliminating transgender identites² or withdrawing from the World Health Organization,³ there are daily “images” in the news that buy our attention, only to be ripped apart within seconds. The only problem with these orders is that, unlike the pictures in Longo’s video, many don’t get thrown in the trash.

        Robert Longo’s charcoal drawings take photographic images and redefine them instead of ripping them apart. In Untitled (The Three Graces; Donetsk, Ukraine), three gowns from a storefront in Donetsk, Ukraine, stand after an attack by the Russian army. While not an exact copy, Longo’s drawings also depict the harsh reality of war. The beautiful gowns are presented almost as if they are beautiful sculptures, begging to be admired. The tragedy is that they cannot be admired for their beauty because the glass covering them is punctured with bullet holes.

        There’s an illusion that I am looking at these dresses shortly after they were destroyed. I can see myself in the glass covering the drawings. I can nearly stick my fingers through the bullet holes. The illusion makes it nearly impossible to detach yourself from the scene and to realize the pain of violence. So often we use war as an excuse for nationalism, but there’s a sad side to it as well. The Three Graces shows the destruction of what comes from beautiful communities that are put in harm’s way.

        In Untitled (Nathan Bedford Forrest Statue Removal: Memphis) the removal of a memorial statue for Nathan Bedford Forrest is depicted. Forrest is regarded by some as an important historical figure, but there has also been grave opposition to celebrating him as he was a slave trader and founding member of the Ku Klux Klan.⁴ In this piece, Longo criticizes the blindness of American history—when there is a celebration of nationalism, war, and honoring prominent figures without acknowledging the harm and repercussions of our country’s choices. The removal of Forrest’s statue directly acknowledges the horror of the American past.

        Across from this drawing is The Rock (The Supreme Court of the United States–Split). Separated into two panels, the piece shows this justice building standing tall underneath a cloudy sky. Though the piece can symbolize the division of political ideology in our governmental system, its position across from the “Statue Removal” drawing, suggests a different significance. The compositional division could also signify a division in the future and the past. Will we continue to accept the past as it is presented to us, or will we acknowledge when harm was done? Will we accept parts of the tortured worldly past, or will we stay blind to nationalism? The question is further reiterated in the glass covering the drawing. In the reflection, I see myself standing between The Rock and Statue Removal. I see the crane reflected in The Rock and I can’t help but wonder if this is a necessary step in our future?

        Longo explores our relationship with our nation’s past in one of his sculptures. In the middle of a large hallway hangs a big golden globe called Death Star II. It glimmers under shining lights. It sparkles. It’s grand. It even dazzles. Then as you get closer, you realize its weight, not only the physical, but also the emotional weight. The big golden ball of glory is actually a steel sphere with 40,000 copper bullets covering the surface. The ‘beauty’ of Death Star reflects the glorification of guns and violence. The bullets are meant to symbolize the growing instances of mass shootings in the United States. Something that looks so grand could as equally be corrupt. (The Death Star was a fictional instrument built by the Sith Lord in the movie Star Wars. It is meant to destroy planets with the push of a button. The Sith Lord used it as leverage for civilians to pledge their loyalty to his political group.)

        The violence of guns Longo reflects on is another part of our history that is questioned. Much like the Statue Removal, our relationship with guns may need to change. We’ve identified ourselves with a strong military. However, has our dependence on militant strength started to negatively impact our society? Is our society too comfortable with the violence that informed generations of Americans? Do we need to change our relationship with guns in order to stop normalizing the violence they can provoke?

        “The Acceleration of History” questions our duty to our past relationship with violence. Is it still appropriate to memorialize a slave trader and member of the KKK? Is it okay to decimate communities when we are at war with them? Is it okay to eliminate DEI practices that were established to protect already marginalized communities?⁵ Violence follows us. It has led us to be what we are today. In order to change how we are affected by violence in the future, Longo urges us to reflect on past instances. We can learn from how we responded in the past in order not to repeat these mistakes in our future.

Footnotes:

1 “John Paul Filo of Valley Daily News and Daily Dispatch, Tarentum and New Kensington, PA”, Pulitzer.

https://www.pulitzer.org/winners/john-paul-filo

2 “Defending Women from Gender Ideology Extremism and Restoring Biological Truth to the Federal Government”, White House

https://www.whitehouse.gov/presidential-actions/2025/01/defending-women-from-gender-ideology-extremism-and-restoring-biological-truth-to-the-federal-government

3 “Withdrawing the United States from the World

Health Organization”, White House.

https://www.whitehouse.gov/presidential-actions/2025/01/withdrawing-the-united-states-from-the-worldhealth-organization

4 “Nathan Bedford Forrest”, Battlefields.

https://www.battlefields.org/learn/biographies/nathan-bedford-forrest

5 “Ending Radical and Wasteful Government DEI Programs and Preferencing”, White House.

https://www.whitehouse.gov/presidential-actions/2025/01/ending-radical-and-wasteful-government-dei-programs-and-preferencing

Andrew Hart Benson (they/them/theirs) is a queer writer and editor based in Chicago. They have a degree in Communication from SUNY University at Buffalo. To contact, find them on Instagram @abensxn or through their website, andrewhartbenson.com.