Charles Rappleye died on Saturday, September 15, at his home in Echo Park at the age of 62. He battled with cancer for nearly seven years.
Charlie had a rich career as an award-winning investigative journalist and an author of four nonfiction historical biographies. Separate from that part of his life, he was also co-founder of Artillery with me, his wife, and editor-in-chief Tulsa Kinney. Together, we launched the magazine in September of 2006.
Although Charlie’s background was not in the arts, he was an appreciator, and strongly encouraged me to start the art magazine. His expertise in publishing and journalism complemented my knowledge of contemporary art. He was publisher of Artillery for our first two years before stepping down to continue his writing and complete three subsequent books.
Still, Charlie remained a huge part of the daily operations of Artillery, being an on-call headline writer, off-the-cuff caption provider, proofer and editor, but mainly, its biggest fan and advocate for success. He was always involved—even if it was just doing grunt work like shipping magazines to colleges and art fairs, dropping off stacks at galleries, or running the national distribution, to always seeking out new places to distribute the magazine.
Charlie also served as my personal editor for all my features and editor’s letter. I can’t fathom grappling with copy without his eye. He was always looking for authenticity, to make sure I tell it like it is. Whenever I assigned him a story (and be thrilled that he would say yes) he invariably caught negative attention from the art audience. Like when he did the critical exposé on LA art nonprofits; that did not go over so well with the players involved. He always sought out the truth and just laid it out right there; not your usual art-writing fare.
Charlie would have been here with me right now, correcting my punctuation, and helping me select which ads look best where. He even did the grilling at our annual summer contributors’ BBQs. Artillery would not have happened without Charlie and his absence leaves a void almost impossible to fill, with the magazine—and in my heart.
He will be sorely missed; but you will help fill our void as much as we will help fill yours. Long Live Charlie
Tulsa,
I spoke with Tony today after 20 years. I felt so sad after talking to him hearing about your loss and the journey he has been on. Over the years I have thought of you and wondered how you were doing. i know it has been a very long time since we have been in touch but would love to hear from you.
My deepest sympathy,
Michelle
Charlie’s words and deeds, and also – I will highlight – that exposé you mention, have helped your vision for Artillery create one of the most unusual and vital art magazines. Among his many gifts to you seems to be the confidence to step out of line and have an ethical posture in an often unethical environment. Charlie changed the world with his writing and influence, especially locally where he obviously cared about the people making up his sphere. I am grateful to have known him!
Although I did not know Charlie personally, I’m well aware of all the effort and deidication that must have gone into the founding and husbanding of “Artillery,” a magazine for which I have had the privilege to write on a number of occasions. My sincerest condolences to Tulsa on the loss of someone deeply loved, and to everyone else on the “Artillery” staff who Charlie so obviously touched and inspired. We are thinking of you in the Bay Area and wishing you only the fondest and best of memories.
we were always thrilled to visit with Charlie. what a guy full of wit and wisdom. We will always remember his love and respect for our family.
Immeasurable loss hugs to you today Tulsa. though we never got to venture into your world with Charlie we know you were very lucky to have found each other