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Kicking Ass

When Thaddine Swift Eagle Johnson steps into the room, her bearing is athletic, proud, wide-eyed, but not arrogant. Few would know she is a world-champion martial artist, as well as Golden Glove champion, painter/photographer, and former Alvin Ailey dancer.

By Stew Mosberg

Found in: | Inside | Art |

An African American, Blackfoot tribal woman, from the ghetto regions of New York, Johnson now makes Durango, Colorado her home. I first learned of her through art exhibits around town, when she showed at the Durango Rec Center, the Lost Dog Bar (where she won People's Choice), St. Mark's Church Sacred Arts festival, and the Cortez Cultural Center.

Her paintings are arresting, to say the least. Her composition, the subject matter, and the striking colors, immediately demand a viewer's attention. In many of her canvases, words are written directly onto the surface, guiding spectators through the painting, and leaving little doubt as to what she means to say. Her poetic photography is very often processed in sepia tone, because she just "likes it that way."

We made an appointment to meet and talk about her multiple careers. She arrived dressed in workout clothes, carrying an oversize shoulder bag; blood red boxing gloves dangling from the straps. It is clear after only a few minutes that Johnson is a woman who knows what she wants and goes after it.

While we talk, she cocks an eyebrow to make a point and then glances sideways to see if I'm following along or if I agree with her comments. She is not shy about telling it the way it is, or even admitting she has no clue about some things, her lack of formal art training for example, but she likes it that way. While some may find her work devoid of academic principles, there is no argument that it is impactful and possesses a certain raw power.

Her artwork is allegorical, with prominent figures typically painted in shocking cobalt blue with vibrant red accents. Her subjects vary from religious themes, to sexual abuse, family gatherings, and statements about life's turmoil, to still lifes of flowers in a vase.

After receiving a scholarship from the world-famous Alvin Ailey Dance Company, where she says she went, "just to stay in shape," Johnson got involved with karate and found an innate ability to beat opponents rather handily. Excelling on the mat with "bare knuckle, knees, and feet," she went on to win 108 amateur bouts and three world kickboxing titles in the featherweight division. Diminutive in stature, she sometimes had to put rolls of quarters in her trunks to make the weight.

She entered the national Golden Gloves tournament even though she knew virtually nothing about the sport or its rules, and now proudly wears the coveted prize around her neck.

Her successful arena exploits earned her an invitation to train with the Native American boxing team, which was located in Farmington, N.M. Impossible to commute from New York, it made sense to move to the Four Corners to continue working with team trainer Dave Bodoni, and also make a new life for herself and her wheelchair-bound mother. Johnson went on to become the Native American boxing champion, and was eventually chosen for partial sponsorship by Everlast, the boxing equipment manufacturer, when she turned professional.

Ten years ago, a serious knee injury sidelined her just long enough to discover her talent as a painter. With no art school teachers to tell her she couldn't, she began filling canvases with visual representations of her thoughts, emotions, and theories about dealing with a world that is not always easy for blacks, Native Americans or women.

According to Johnson, being a woman boxer is one of her greatest challenges - not in beating opponents, but in getting fights; many female boxers are afraid of her. It is also virtually impossible to find a qualified trainer who will work with a woman. In fact, the vast majority of men in this machismo business don't want women in the boxing world - period. By her own admission, Johnson gives 110 percent to her training. When she won the Golden Glove title, it was while suffering from pneumonia. When the referee raised Johnson's gloved fist in triumph, the fighter promptly collapsed to the canvas from exhaustion.

While working and training at New York's famous Gleason's gym, she met Hillary Swank, who was preparing for her Oscar-winning performance in "Million Dollar Baby," and sold her a pair of her trunks that Swank wore in the film. Johnson was considered for the role of a fighter in the movie, but declined because she would have to lose to Swank. She also worked at Gleason's with Mike Tyson, who as part of his community service, agreed to hold her training pads, which incidentally, she hits with extraordinary power. Watching her go through her paces at the Durango Martial Arts School on East Avenue, dressed in a black Everlast T-shirt proclaiming "Blood, Sweat and Tears," you can hear the impact of her gloved fists reverberate off the padded walls. She hits like no woman I've ever seen. Even with the lack of fight prospects, she trains constantly in the event an opening comes along.

As to painting, it is difficult for her to do it on a regular basis, partly because her house has only one furnished room, and she gave that to her mother. Her days are filled with work and training and attention to caregiving. She had been the caregiver to both her parents before her father died of cancer, and now to her mother who lost her legs to diabetes.

Balancing a complex life such as hers would not be an easy task for an ordinary human. But there is little that is ordinary about Johnson. Once, when scheduled to fight in Washington, D.C., she called her mother from Penn Station in New York to remind her mom to take her medication. What she heard on the other end of the line was an incoherent response. Anxious, but also due to fight in a few hours, she called paramedics to go to her house and check on her mom, then boarded the train to do battle in the capital. Mom made it OK. Johnson won the match.

Her modesty is tactful, and she is quick to pay homage to Deirdre Hamaguchi, a pugilist who in 1995 sued the New York Boxing Commission to win sanctioning for women's boxing. Johnson is still waiting for women's kickboxing and karate to become Olympic sports.

Being recognized as a painter wasn't much easier. Early on, she attempted to get representation at a gallery in New York. They liked the work, but when she showed up for an interview they said, "Oh, sorry, we already have a black artist!" Undaunted, she just set up her own exhibit on a Manhattan sidewalk and promptly sold all of her work.

Talking to her about her determination to succeed segued into memories of the bruises she sustained in the past, not from the fights, but as the result of traveling home on the crowded subway while trying to carry her enormous trophies and avoid bumping into curious passengers.

Asked where or how she finds the ability to do all that she does in the face of so much adversity, Johnson doesn't hesitate to respond, "Where do I get the strength to go on, to get through the day? There's no such thing as drugs or alcohol. I have to look within myself and find that inner strength."

While she trains, tries to find time to paint, makes arrangements to keep her mother healthy and busy, Johnson waits - waits for a shot at a vacant boxing title. And when asked what she would like to achieve in the art world, her retort is equally adaptable to her other exploits, "If I can truly inspire someone to see," she reflects, "to hear that inner voice that has been crowded out by other voices . . ." There is little doubt that she has already done that.

Stew Mosberg is a freelance writer working out of Bayfield, Colo. He is the author of three books and writes for a variety of regional and national publications. He can be reached at wrtrf@aol.com.