The novelists, playwrights, and critics often play provocative roles in the art world, and one such figure was Gary Indiana, who recently passed away at the age of 74. When I first met him at the Village Voice during the no-wave movement in the early 1980s, he introduced himself simply as “an American writer.”
Indiana was a unique blend of elfin charm and fierce intellect, with a perceptive gaze that suggested he had navigated the complexities of desire. He embodied the essence of a true downtown literary artist, intertwining influences from Frank O’Hara’s concept of personism and Lou Reed’s raw empathy. I might even liken him to Joan Didion—though I imagine he’d have playful words for me if I did!
Born as Hoisington in New Hampshire in 1950, Indiana chose to adopt the surname of a renowned artist, perhaps as a tribute to Robert Indiana. His name seemed emblematic for a writer who became the Voice’s art critic during the Reagan years.
Throughout his career, Gary delved into the grim narratives surrounding figures like Andrew Cunanan and the Menendez brothers, transforming their chilling exploits into sharp critiques of American society. He authored a hard-hitting play about Roy Cohn, created audacious videos, and earned a reputation as a bête noire in the art scene, becoming a hero within underground circles.
That’s why, when he faced a familiar New York challenge—threats from his landlord to evict him from his East Village apartment—I felt compelled to assist. With my background in supervising top reporters on local politics, I shared various strategies with Gary to help him navigate the situation. Thankfully, he never mentioned the eviction threat again, and I like to think that maintaining an affordable apartment in a desirable neighborhood is one of the ultimate New York triumphs.
Another triumph? Hearing the phrase “the check is in the mail.” To discover the third, dive into Gary’s fiction, where grand sexual promises are often revealed as mere fabrications. One memorable instance from his novel *Horse Crazy* involves a protagonist who, upon spotting the embodiment of his wildest dreams across the bar, musters the courage to approach only to realize that the object of his desire is simply a spot on the wall. Few writers captured the illusions of erotic life with such precision.
I vividly remember editing a striking piece by Gary about attending a straight porn shoot in LA. His account was intricately detailed, yet it lacked any real sexual energy, reflecting both the explicit nature and emotional detachment of professional pornography. We featured it on the cover of that issue, complemented by Sylvia Plachy’s photos that perfectly conveyed his perspective. The unvarnished honesty of his work, or perhaps the discomfort it evoked, led to controversy—though I can’t recall the specifics, we faced advertiser boycotts and even bomb threats, reminders that the Voice was striking a chord. Publishing Gary Indiana, with his remarkable blend of journalistic and literary talent, was a significant part of that mission.
“People thought I was gratuitously vicious,” he told Joy Press during a 2002 interview for the Voice, “but I was just trying to be honest. It allowed me to inject a note of dissonance into the prevailing foolishness. People often see you as self-destructive if you challenge power, but if your only aim is to succeed with those in power, you might as well start taking a lot of Klonopin every day.” Even today, in an era where many make power plays in pursuit of influence, Gary Indiana would likely stand by those words—and those words were a true reflection of his spirit.
