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Outlaw Representation: Censorship and Homosexuality in Twentieth-Century American Art
From the U.S. Navy's 1934 confiscation of a painting of sailors on shore leave to contemporary culture wars over funding for the arts, conflicts surrounding homosexuality and creative freedom have shaped the history of modern art in America. Richard Meyer's Outlaws Representation tells the charged story of this strife through pioneering analysis of the works of gay artists and the circumstances under which these works have been attacked, suppressed, or censored outright. Focusing on the careers of Paul Cadmus, Andy Warhol, Robert Mapplethorpe, David Wojnarowicz, Gran Fury, and Holly Hughes, Outlaw Representation explores how gay artists responded to the threat of censorship by producing their own "outlaw representations" of homosexuality. Instead of acquiescing to attacks on their work as indecent or obscene, these artists used the outlaw status of homosexuality to propose new forms of social, sexual, and creative life.
392 pages, Paperback
First published January 17, 2002
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February 24, 2026Revisit the introduction. A very good model to lay out and demonstrate the thesis with powerful visual materials.
Meyer begins by presenting the red envelope that contained the scandalous letter distributed by the Christian Coalition to condemn “vulgar photographs” funded by taxpayers. This letter sparked fierce debate over the complex relationship between censorship, art, and homosexuality within the context of 20th-century American art and broader sociopolitical discourse—a debate that lies at the heart of Outlaw Representation. The text explores how censorship operates in artistic creation—not only by suppressing certain representations (in this case, of homosexuality), but also by provoking creative detours, both preemptively and in response. While Meyer acknowledges that his analysis is informed by the ideas of Foucault and Freud, he emphasizes that his arguments are not mere reiterations of their theories, but are also shaped by productive intersections with feminist art history—particularly the works of Linda Nochlin, Lisa Tickner, and Anne Wagner (24).
What stands out in Meyer’s approach in the introduction is his acknowledgment of the project’s limitations. He clearly delineates his focus on male homosexuality but offers a compelling and justifiable rationale for this choice. As he writes, “This book’s focus on male homosexuality is intended not as yet another erasure of women’s history and experience but as a contribution to the field of lesbian and gay studies, a field that, at its best, attends to the distinctness of lesbian and gay male histories without construing the two as simple parallels or pendants.” (21) Rather than falling into the trap of false parallelism or erasure, Meyer establishes a clear focal point for readers. I believe this is a responsible way to acknowledge the boundaries of a specific project without ignoring or diminishing other urgent and related subject matters.
This approach is also echoed in his reading of Cadmus’s Gilding the Acrobats, particularly in his analysis of the change from the white adolescent attendant in the preliminary sketch to a younger Black boy in the final painting. Meyer’s writing invites readers to engage critically with Cadmus’s choices through the lens of racial theory, while still maintaining focus on the central argument concerning the historical censorship of homosexual desire and Cadmus’s artistic response to the pressures to suppress such connotations in his work.
Meyer’s use of various visual materials is also exemplary. His method of reading photographs is particularly impressive, as he attends not only to what is explicitly shown within the visual field of the photographic scene but also to the underlying structures it perpetuates. He does this by comparing images with similar settings—for example, in his analysis of Weegee’s The Gay Deceiver alongside other photographs such as Barber Confesses to Murder of Einer Sporrer and Charles Sodokoff and Arthur Webber Use Their Top Hats to Hide Their Faces. While the subjects' attitudes differ, Meyer highlights the consistent structural role of the police in these images. In addition, his introduction of Christian Metz’s photography theory as a “cut or crop” (93) powerfully connects to his analysis of works by Cadmus and French. Meyer compellingly argues that the homosexual traits of these artists in 1930s America were systematically cut out of critical and theoretical narratives. This framing is particularly helpful in encouraging a more ethically conscious approach to interpreting photography.
However, I found myself unexpectedly distracted by the section in which Meyer introduces the series of photographs of Cadmus and French—particularly noting that these images were never publicly exhibited during Cadmus’s lifetime and remained unpublished at the time of his death in 1955. Although the photographs were later released during a period when overtly hostile anti-homosexual ideologies had begun to recede, it seems likely—especially, as Meyer himself notes on page 89—that Cadmus intended these intimate nudes to be seen only by a close circle of trusted loved ones. This raises a set of difficult questions: What does it mean to share such photographs posthumously? How should I, as a reader and viewer, ethically respond to them? Does the very act of viewing these images shift or complicate Meyer’s broader argument? And, more pointedly, is the inclusion of this specific photograph truly necessary within the pages of the book?
Another critical question concerning (in)visibility raised by photography relates to how visibility can sometimes be misleading or even dangerous. I remain cautious about the assumption that making something visible is inherently liberatory. However, the Christian Coalition’s descriptive listings of Mapplethorpe’s photographs raise a contrasting concern: their agitating, propagandistic language distorts the images without actually showing the photographs themselves, which seems even more dangerous. How do we, as art historians and photography theorists, determine when to share actual photographs and when it might be more ethical to provide only verbal or textual descriptions of sensitive or violent content? Is it our responsibility to mediate this visibility, or should we simply offer the images along with more “neutral” or “modest” descriptions and allow readers to form their own interpretations?
Meyer begins by presenting the red envelope that contained the scandalous letter distributed by the Christian Coalition to condemn “vulgar photographs” funded by taxpayers. This letter sparked fierce debate over the complex relationship between censorship, art, and homosexuality within the context of 20th-century American art and broader sociopolitical discourse—a debate that lies at the heart of Outlaw Representation. The text explores how censorship operates in artistic creation—not only by suppressing certain representations (in this case, of homosexuality), but also by provoking creative detours, both preemptively and in response. While Meyer acknowledges that his analysis is informed by the ideas of Foucault and Freud, he emphasizes that his arguments are not mere reiterations of their theories, but are also shaped by productive intersections with feminist art history—particularly the works of Linda Nochlin, Lisa Tickner, and Anne Wagner (24).
What stands out in Meyer’s approach in the introduction is his acknowledgment of the project’s limitations. He clearly delineates his focus on male homosexuality but offers a compelling and justifiable rationale for this choice. As he writes, “This book’s focus on male homosexuality is intended not as yet another erasure of women’s history and experience but as a contribution to the field of lesbian and gay studies, a field that, at its best, attends to the distinctness of lesbian and gay male histories without construing the two as simple parallels or pendants.” (21) Rather than falling into the trap of false parallelism or erasure, Meyer establishes a clear focal point for readers. I believe this is a responsible way to acknowledge the boundaries of a specific project without ignoring or diminishing other urgent and related subject matters.
This approach is also echoed in his reading of Cadmus’s Gilding the Acrobats, particularly in his analysis of the change from the white adolescent attendant in the preliminary sketch to a younger Black boy in the final painting. Meyer’s writing invites readers to engage critically with Cadmus’s choices through the lens of racial theory, while still maintaining focus on the central argument concerning the historical censorship of homosexual desire and Cadmus’s artistic response to the pressures to suppress such connotations in his work.
Meyer’s use of various visual materials is also exemplary. His method of reading photographs is particularly impressive, as he attends not only to what is explicitly shown within the visual field of the photographic scene but also to the underlying structures it perpetuates. He does this by comparing images with similar settings—for example, in his analysis of Weegee’s The Gay Deceiver alongside other photographs such as Barber Confesses to Murder of Einer Sporrer and Charles Sodokoff and Arthur Webber Use Their Top Hats to Hide Their Faces. While the subjects' attitudes differ, Meyer highlights the consistent structural role of the police in these images. In addition, his introduction of Christian Metz’s photography theory as a “cut or crop” (93) powerfully connects to his analysis of works by Cadmus and French. Meyer compellingly argues that the homosexual traits of these artists in 1930s America were systematically cut out of critical and theoretical narratives. This framing is particularly helpful in encouraging a more ethically conscious approach to interpreting photography.
However, I found myself unexpectedly distracted by the section in which Meyer introduces the series of photographs of Cadmus and French—particularly noting that these images were never publicly exhibited during Cadmus’s lifetime and remained unpublished at the time of his death in 1955. Although the photographs were later released during a period when overtly hostile anti-homosexual ideologies had begun to recede, it seems likely—especially, as Meyer himself notes on page 89—that Cadmus intended these intimate nudes to be seen only by a close circle of trusted loved ones. This raises a set of difficult questions: What does it mean to share such photographs posthumously? How should I, as a reader and viewer, ethically respond to them? Does the very act of viewing these images shift or complicate Meyer’s broader argument? And, more pointedly, is the inclusion of this specific photograph truly necessary within the pages of the book?
Another critical question concerning (in)visibility raised by photography relates to how visibility can sometimes be misleading or even dangerous. I remain cautious about the assumption that making something visible is inherently liberatory. However, the Christian Coalition’s descriptive listings of Mapplethorpe’s photographs raise a contrasting concern: their agitating, propagandistic language distorts the images without actually showing the photographs themselves, which seems even more dangerous. How do we, as art historians and photography theorists, determine when to share actual photographs and when it might be more ethical to provide only verbal or textual descriptions of sensitive or violent content? Is it our responsibility to mediate this visibility, or should we simply offer the images along with more “neutral” or “modest” descriptions and allow readers to form their own interpretations?
February 22, 2026
Finally confirmed my turn from very evil hatred towards Warhol to lowk my obsession and love 😍
Lowk too many men but wut can u do a gay guy wrote this 🤷♀️
Also have never encountered Wojnarowicz before. Untitled 1992 would never be my favorite photographically, but the poetry is just so heartfelt and distributing it made me in love with the piece. His exactly named piece from 1993… OMG HELLOO… it’s like theater under the sand but then it’s not and it’s the darker version…love this dude.
Lowk too many men but wut can u do a gay guy wrote this 🤷♀️
Also have never encountered Wojnarowicz before. Untitled 1992 would never be my favorite photographically, but the poetry is just so heartfelt and distributing it made me in love with the piece. His exactly named piece from 1993… OMG HELLOO… it’s like theater under the sand but then it’s not and it’s the darker version…love this dude.
September 2, 2016
Fastidiously engages the contentious relationship between art--visual/ performative -- and public reception in the format of case studies that center around male-male homoeroticism in 20th c. America and how these various forms of expression have been sublimated, expressed,and repressed by both institutional and cultural identities with special emphasis toward government funded projects. It studies canon artists with impressive investigative pedanticism that has rightfully put this text forth as a staple for not only its invaluable bibliography but also for its enduring legitimization of previously (and continuously) stigmatized bodies of work; or as Meyer would have it, "the value of unrespectability."
August 4, 2009
This is a fantastic book. Meyer's writing is clear and beautifully constructed and his analysis of individual works is insightful and spot on as is the analysis of the context in which these works were created. I highly recommend this book to anyone interested in the visual arts, gay or straight.
March 6, 2008
Great history of queer art and censorship. Academic, but easily digestible.
October 3, 2014
Indispensable for contemporary art lovers.
Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews