by Giovanna Marcus, 6/16/10
Fabio, the quintessential fantasy hunk, if ever there was one, stands cliffside at the helm of an Irish chariot drawn by two equally muscle-bound horses. Clearly, the perilous fate of the Queen resides in his sturdy…triceps.
When Olympia-based illustrator Kevin Johnson first met the Hunkasaurus, the Italian supermodel made his entrance to the photo shoot wearing leather pants and apologizing profusely for his tardiness. Apparently his Great Dane had the runs — as viable an excuse as any. Later on in the day, the man belonging to the chiseled jaw goaded Johnson to “feel [his] triceps,” though Johnson maintains to this day that his own were more impressive. 
Johnson was born in Ridgefield, Washington, (close to Centralia) and spent much of his youth enveloped inside oversized art books of Michelangelo and Ruben. In his twenties, he moved to New York after sending off a tear sheet with a sample of his work to a publisher and being told that “We have people here in New York who do this, why would we use you?” He took the gruff honesty of the publisher mogul as a sign that he should go to where the work is.
It was there, in the early to mid-1980s, that Johnson procured much gainful employment as an illustrator for science fiction and fantasy book covers, gaining notoriety as someone who could masterfully render exquisite detail and lighting. To diversify his workload, he crossed over from the world of painting nebulas and portholes into other galaxies, to painting sultry romance novels that would come with directives from art directors with a chart rating of either low, medium, or high-level sensuality. Johnson remained busy throughout the golden age of illustration, painting over 200 covers for a variety of publishers, as well as designing toys.
Johnson has been retired from being a professional illustrator for 12 years, and currently works most often as a sculptor, where he uses molding clay and resin to create three dimensional versions of his mind’s eye. Currently he is working on a commissioned painting from a Superior Court Judge to paint an epic version of the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse.
While speaking of the industry that he started in versus now, he laments that the people who are in the business today are much less interested in books than they are with making money. Johnson could have gained more fame had he stuck with the science fiction genre, with its conventions and fans who are willing to pay money for paintings. He cites hero Frank Franzetta, fantasy illustrationist who recently died, leaving behind a devoted following. Alas, there aren’t romance novel conventions, although perhaps there should be.
Johnson’s love of Olympia brought him back home after years of living in New York. He meets me for an afternoon coffee. He is noticeably well-dressed in an argyle vest and overcoat, a diversion from the normal streetwear of Olympia, where casual reigns supreme, and jeans and sweatshirts are king.
His humor is insightful, imaginative, and gently self-deprecating. He tells me that I should fabricate a story for this article where he meets Donald Trump and slaps his face while Ivana professes her love for him. Johnson has a definite knavish side. As a six degrees of separation side note, we discover that my high school boyfriend’s father gave him a break into the industry as the editor of Tor books. I leave the coffee shop amazed at the abundance of talent that lurks in this town. And also because this is very well the closest I ever get to Fabio. ◙