saʴýҳ

IN REVIEW | ALBUQUERQUE

Bad bunnies, good art: Trove of paintings by an ‘almost famous’ artist who photographed JFK inspires new work at Desert Mystery Center

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A new exhibition at an artist-run space shines light on an artist who died in obscurity.

In 1962, the famous abstract-expressionist portraitist Elaine de Kooning made a of an unknown, 24-year-old artist named Eddie Johnson.

Johnson was de Kooning’s studio assistant. That same year, he accompanied her to President John F. Kennedy’s “Winter White House” on the island of Palm Beach, Florida.

“Elaine de Kooning is going to Palm Beach to paint the President’s portrait (yes, JFK himself!!) and she’s taking me along as her assistant,” Johnson wrote in a letter home to his family. “I leave today in a Rambler station wagon — she is going down by train — I know that this all sounds incredible, but even Elaine can hardly believe it.… Elaine decided she would want photographs & canvases stretched, etc. in Fla., and apparently decided I’m the only one she could trust.”

Johnson photographed Kennedy as he sat for his portrait. Kennedy was assassinated the following year, and two of Johnson’s were subsequently published in a May 8, 1964, issue of Life magazine.

‘Hares on the Mountain’

WHEN: Viewing by appointment; closing reception noon to 6 p.m Saturday, May 30

WHERE: Desert Mystery Center, 400 14th St. SW

HOW MUCH: Free. For more information, message Matthan Cowart on Instagram at


Johnson moved to saʴýҳ sometime in the early 1970s, it seems, where he continued to paint until his death in 2012. In a 2013 , “Artist Unknown: Reflections on Works by Eddie Johnson,” art critic Tim Keane attempted to piece together Johnson’s life from meager scraps of evidence and expressed frustration at not being able to see more of the artist’s work. “Taken as I was by these works on paper, I wondered where Eddie Johnson’s oil paintings might be, if they were at all,” he wrote.

That mystery has now been solved. Much of Johnson’s life’s work, it turns out, had been sitting in a storage unit in saʴýҳ for over a decade.

Matthan Cowart, an artist who runs a gallery called Desert Mystery Center out of an saʴýҳ home, said the artist’s estate could no longer afford the storage fees. So, they contacted the University of New Mexico’s art department, which put them in touch with him.

In reviewing the archive, Cowart stumbled upon a major series of bunny-themed paintings and works on paper that Johnson made between 1972 and 1995. All were based on the same, well-worn plush toy bunny, which Cowart discovered in the archive, as well.

So, he organized an exhibition, titled “Hares on the Mountain,” which intersperses Johnson’s bunny-themed art with bunny art by 11 living artists.

It’s a remarkable cross-generational show. Some of the artists are well-known, including David Altmejd, who represented Canada at the 2007 Venice Biennale, and Ed Haddaway, who is famous in New Mexico for his whimsical public sculptures, including “A Tree of Mixed Metaphors,” which you can see in the saʴýҳ Museum’s sculpture garden. Other artists, including Rica Maestas, Tori Nicole and Cowart himself, are emerging.

Johnson’s two largest paintings in “Hares on the Mountain” measure over 5½ feet tall, and the gargantuan bunny extends well beyond the frame. With their gestural brushwork and kinetic sense of form, these paintings bear the stylistic imprint of Johnson’s former mentor, de Kooning, while the subject matter — a maudlin object of mass-produced schlock — is about as far removed from the grand, operatic emotions of the abstract-expressionists as one can get.

Why did Johnson obsessively paint the same worn-out plush bunny for over two decades? Was it a personal totem from his childhood? A disguised self-portrait?

In 1972, Johnson was 34 years old. His art career in New York City had failed to materialize. Did he already feel as useless, neglected and worn-down as this old, stuffed bunny? Was the bunny an emblem of his perceived failure? It’s impossible to know, given the paucity of biographical material on the artist, but I wouldn’t be surprised.

What’s interesting, from an art historical standpoint, is that Johnson’s sad, stuffed bunny art predates (by a decade and a half) the installation artist Mike Kelley’s use of soiled, discarded stuffed animals in “More Love Hours Than Can Ever Be Repaid and The Wages of Sin” (1987) and the “Arena” series Kelley first exhibited in 1990. Kelley also made photographic portraits of stuffed animals, which the band Sonic Youth used as the art for their 1992 double album, “Dirty.” Critics at the time tended to interpret Kelley’s stuffed animals psychologically, sometimes seeing them as stand-ins for abused or neglected children.

Since then, many artists have used salvaged stuffed animals in their art — up to and including Precious Okoyomon’s installation piece, “Everything wants to kill you and you should be afraid” (2026), which was included in this year’s Whitney Biennial. But in 1972, the idea of making psychologically loaded art out of mass-produced children’s toys was a radically provocative concept.

Cowart’s curation brings Johnson’s radicality to the fore by placing him in conversation with taboo-shattering contemporary artists, such as Tommy Bruce. Bruce, who received a master’s in studio art from the University of New Mexico in 2020 and now lives in Portland, Oregon, documents the local furry community using infrared cameras. Furries are members of a creative fandom who role-play as anthropomorphic animals in faux-fur suits — sometimes, but not always, as part of a sexual fetish. Bruce’s series, “Wild Night,” focuses on the sexual side of the lifestyle, and the photograph in the current show depicts two furries in full-body rabbit suits getting intimate in the woods.

Cowart’s own contribution, a mixed-media wall piece, titled “Plethoric Prey,” places miniature toy rabbits in a series of decaying underground chambers. Disturbing photographs are collaged into the background, including an image of a vicious dog’s open mouth and the blurry image of a person in a bunny suit who seems to be stumbling into a garbage bin on the side of the road. Cowart’s piece reminds us that a wild rabbit is a prey animal, whose daily life is a theater of anxiety. When being chased by predators, its heart rate can exceed 300 beats per minute. 

After viewing Cowart’s work, I began to perceive a greater sense of vulnerability in Johnson’s painted bunnies. The veinous red brushwork in the background of the larger pieces became visions of blood, anxious fantasies of violence, cutting into the picture plane.

The saʴýҳ-based artist Carlos McCord has created a disturbing sculpture of cholla cactus “bones,” barbed wire, black candles and poisonous datura seeds, all of which he has fashioned into a creepy cradle for Johnson’s actual stuffed bunny. Cowart said McCord’s ritualistic assemblage was inspired by the “Burning Man”-esque sculpture seen in the 1973 folk horror film, “The Wicker Man.”

As Cowart walked me through the show, he confessed that he sometimes fears dying unknown and leaving behind a trove of unsold artworks, just as Johnson did. After all, only a very small proportion of artists ever become established enough in their lifetimes that a major gallery or museum is willing to step in and manage their estates posthumously. What happens to everyone else?

In this case, Johnson’s estate has given Cowart permission to sell or give away all of the art in the show — better, they figured, than seeing it thrown away, or having it remain locked in a vault.

“At the request of the estate, please consider taking home one or more of the Johnson bunnies at the conclusion of this exhibition,” Cowart wrote at the top of the exhibition checklist. “Any price you are willing to pay would go towards exhibition costs. Giving their work a place to live where the light shines is the greatest gift to an artist’s memory.”

Desert Mystery Center is normally only open by appointment, but it will host a closing reception on Saturday, May 30, beginning at noon. This will be your last chance to see the show, and it might, in fact, be your only chance to see Johnson’s enigmatic bunny paintings and drawings at all before they get dispersed among local artists and collectors. Don’t miss it!

Anyone interested in taking home one of Johnson’s pieces is encouraged to contact Cowart ahead of time via his personal Instagram account, .

Logan Royce Beitmen is an arts writer for the saʴýҳ. He covers visual art, music, fashion, theater and more. Reach him at lbeitmen@abqjournal.com or on Instagram at .