Our Story

A’ho, relatives. My name’s Lucky Salway—Oglala Lakota and Tohono O’odham, born and raised in Tucson, AZ. My art is my voice, my resistance, and my healing.

My mom, Mary Narcho (Tohono O’odham Nation), is a strong, beautiful woman who held me down through the darkest times, never giving up on me even when I gave up on myself. My dad, Stacey Salway (but everybody called him Lucky), was Oglala Lakota, direct lineage from the Crazy Horse Camp. Yeah, that Crazy Horse. Dad even got a shoutout in Russell Means’ book Where White Men Fear to Tread for putting Russell in his first rodeo. 

I came into this world on Winter Solstice in Phoenix, AZ, right after the sun dipped below the horizon. If you really think about it, Phoenix means rising from the ashes—same as Winter Solstice, the death and rebirth of the sun. So yeah, I’m a Phoenix in every sense. Took me years to realize that, though, ‘cause the old me had to die first.

Growing up, my mom didn’t want me to be an artist. My stepbrother was an artist too, but he lost himself to the drug game in the 80's and she was scared I’d end up the same. Funny how life works—I still ended up deep in the streets, slinging and using, losing myself in the process. I became a nobody, just another rez ghost wandering the concrete, strung out, and caught up in that cycle.

Then, one day I got thrown in jail and should have gotten out the next day but Creator had other plans. Three days in county changed everything. In there, I met another Native artist drawing at a table. I picked up a pencil, sat next to him, and asked if he had any books. He handed me Black Elk Speaks. I joked I’d finish it before I got out—but then I actually did. 3 days later precisely at the moment I read the last word, the doors popped open and I got out.

That book hit different because of were I was at when I read it. Black Elk’s life fell apart when he ignored his purpose. Mine wasn’t on that level, but the message was clear: I wasn’t meant to be a burnout or a dealer. I was meant to create.

I got clean, started painting. First came You’re on O’odham Land with Rufus mural. My first real piece. A mural. Who starts with murals before even touching a canvas? Guess I do.

2020 tested me—lockdown loneliness had me drinking again, but I pulled through and sobered up on Memorial Day of 2022. Then started painting the Cukon mural with my homie Wagonburner, then took it back to my dad’s lands in Pine Ridge for the Established Before Christ piece.

I’ve got more walls to paint, more stories to tell. My art is for my people—the ones who’ve been erased, oppressed, but still stand strong. When they see my work, I want ‘em to feel pride and strength. This is just the beginning.

Mitákuye Oyás’iŋ, Wopila!