Customer Reviews

Outlaw Representation: Censorship and Homosexuality in Twentieth-Century American Art (Ideologies of Desire)

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I must say that the reader from Cambridge, whose review appears below, seems to me to have it right. Certainly, the book is well-illustrated, well-researched, and readable. But analytically, whether understood as art history or cultural criticism, this book offers very little. Meyer does us a service by collecting these images and placing them next to each other, but his observations about the consequences of censorship struck me as quite banal, and predictable to such a degree that you must wonder whether he has any interest in complicating (let alone challenging) the theoretical paradigms he draws on. It is hardly news that right-wing zealots intent on suppressing representations of gay sexuality often display a questionable fascination with the very images they claim to despise. It hardly requires any advanced art historical training to see that Mapplethorpe's "Brian Ridley and Lyle Heeter" photo plays on the conventional image of the Victorian heterosexual domestic couple. I had rather hoped, given the time and effort that Meyer put into this book, that he would have been able to present something more surprising and innovative than he delivers. For a good discussion of current perspectives on censorship in law and the humanities that goes far beyond Meyer's account, see the Getty publication, edited by Robert C. Post, titled "Censorship and Silencing: Practices of Cultural Representation."

This book was purchased as an optional textbook for a class held at the Museum of Modern Art in New York. The class itself was a revelation in the way "Queer" art (read the book to get the actual definition of this term--it's probably not as limited to the familiar concept you may have run across) is perceived, as well as indicating the diversity of the Museum's holdings and approach to education. Political as well as artistic strategies are explored, and although not all artists practicing during the time frame of the book, which is considerable, are mentioned, the few that are introduced are given in-depth coverage. Big names that you think you might understand by this time are given fresh perspective and, if you're an art history buff as myself, further reasons to consider their output. This holds true for others you may be exploring on your own: insights from this book are easily transferred beyond its pages. I walked away from the book (and class) with more questions then when I first encountered it, and the inspiration is exciting. This volume will increase your awareness of art in society and its perception by some as beauty and others, menace. Lucid, knowledgeable: great read. NOTE: some graphic sexual images.

Richard Meyer has added a significant volume to the compendium of books on American art and its kinship to social mores. Using Censorship as a topic should arouse the interest of all who value freedom of expression and it is to that audience that I think this books plays to best. Yes, the art examined here is queer art, but it is art that is a significant part of the 20th Century, not just an isolated school. His chosen artists are Paul Cadmus, Robert Mapplethorpe, Andy Warhol and Gran Fury and in presenting these artists he is concomittanly investigating the influence of such highly important social issues as AIDS, consumerism, POP culture, the whole Jesse Helms/Jerry Farwell/Christian Coalition debacle in a way that makes the reader look into the motivational behavior of the past century that continues into this century. The book is well documented in images and footnotes, making it a must for school libraries and fellow scholars. Despite the confrontational topic of the book, Meyer writes so well that he maintains interest even when extending his examples a bit too far. He overall theme appears to be that there is some good to be found in censorship: media attention derived from such art brings heightened awareness and eventually more prestige and longevity to the art and involved artists. One major complaint about this book: the typeface point is so small that it makes reading the pages a visual strain. In an otherwise expensive layout, one wonders why the typeface couldn't have been changed to one more user friendly.

This book does for twentieth-century American art what Vito Russo's "The Celluloid Closet" does for twentieth-century cinema. The illustrations and reproductions are brilliantly choreographed with the text.

This is an amazing book, rich in detail and images, but also exploring with passion and intensity a border between queer studies, art history, and cultural studies. It demonstrates an astonishing command of the social and political history of the period it covers, along with theoretical depth and great sophistication in the reading and analysis of visual materials. I was mesmerized. Written beautifully, this book makes its erudition appear effortless, but in fact it is an extremely courageous and innovative text, bringing together disparate worlds of scholarship into a brilliant synthesis. It neither panders to popular tastes, nor remains trapped in disciplinary jargon; instead, it is an examination, full of intellectual integrity, of the intersection of the law and artistic production, showing how artists moved around and through what might have been devastating censorship by entrenched homophobia. It is to be expected that the book itself will encounter resistance, since it breaks new ground with such authority, unnerving those with vested interests in disciplinary boundaries or in policing representation.

Professor Meyer's work is a needed contribution to queer theory and indespensible for anyone interested in minority persecution. As an art historian would, Meyer threads through the work of gay liberationist artists to demonstrate how the visual arts portrayed resistence to oppression. Using Foucault's concept of "reverse discourse" as a methodology, and the case study as a guide, this book reveals how public attitudes can be challenged with art. I look forward to more writing by Meyer.

WOW! Sexy and impressive! Richard Meyer's Outlaw Representation proves to be a triumphant exploration of how conflicts over censorship and homosexuality have transformed the history of modern art in America. From Mapplethorpe to Warhol, the author masterfully charts the complex crosshairs of sexuality and politics as we witness again and again the collision between gay sensibility and the long arm of the law. I was blown away by Meyer's grasp of his subject and the light he shines onto this sad litany of censorship in America.

This book is a smart and sexy must-have for anyone interested in censorship and homosexuality in American art and popular culture. First, the book is an incredible archive of important American 20th century gay images - from famous (infamous) Cadmus paintings, George Platt Lynes photos, Warhol silkscreens, and Mapplethorpe photos, to less well-known but no less provocative and significant images like David Wojnarowicz's explicit and controversial "Sex Series" and Gran Fury's protest posters and bill boards. The book would be worth buying for the images alone. But it is Richard Meyer's careful research, sharp observations and lucid writing that transform the book from simply a collection of key queer images in to a compelling argument regarding the historical relationship between censorship and public perceptions of homosexuality. The book is a pleasure to read, managing to be at the same time densely packed with original ideas and utterly clear and accessible.

To judge from the glowing reviews by high-powered academics on the dustjacket, one might think that Richard Meyer's book would reshape the entire field of twentieth-century American art history. To his credit, Meyer has done extensive archival research, and gives elegant, concise descriptions of the visual material he presents. But when one ceases to be awed by the glossy, provocative photos, it becomes apparent that his book is 90% description and summary of paintings and events--really, a coffee-table book rather than academic scholarship--and that his "central claim," clearly outlined in the first few pages, isn't really a argument at all, but an observation about cause and effect, _Outlaw Representations_ argues that censorship has produced a set of unintended "representations and counter-representations." What exactly needs to be proven here?
A much more interesting argument, in my view, would have been to say that representations of homosexuality in art and visual culture provide a paradigm for thinking about the relationship between censorship, desire, and the law. Apart from a few references to Freud and Jung (Lacan is conspicuously absent), Meyer does not venture in this direction. One cannot hold Meyer accountable for the title of his book, "Outlaw Representations,"--perhaps it was imposed upon him for marketing reasons, or chosen for its clever play on the word "out"--but it wrongly implies that these censored representations he is examining somehow seek to be "outside" of the law, when the artists are clearly eroticizing the very law that imposes censorial limits on their expression.
The book is a disappointment, because Meyer is a very intelligent person, and could have done more theorizing to make his book truly exceptional.

This book is genius and amazing. Read it right now.