Swodeck

I am grateful for each day I spend in my community.

95 YEARS STRONG ✨
Celebrating my Grandma Bessie (Visinta Gonzales) Storey on her 95th birthday today.

Born March 1, 1931, in Vaughn, New Mexico, she was raised throughout New Mexico, including a memorable time in San Ildefonso Pueblo with relatives like Maria "the Potter" Martinez and Isabel Montoya Atencio. After losing her parents young, she fought to protect her siblings—eventually taking them in as her own. She later married my grandfather, and together they built a life that carried her from New Mexico to California, living in Palm Springs, Compton, Whittier, and now Anaheim Hills.

She went to school only through the 4th grade, yet worked hard her entire life—picking pinto beans in the fields as a child, working at a train stop diner, later at Winchell’s Donuts, and in the cafeteria at Rockwell Aerospace. She proudly became a long-standing member of the UAW. She is deeply proud of her Tewa and Diné heritage, and in recent years we’ve had the honor of taking her to pow wows, continuing traditions and sharing stories along the way.

She’s also legendary in quieter (and braver) ways—sneaking us out for donuts during long prayer meetings when I was little, and once fighting off a mugger and getting her purse back. Strength, humor, and fearlessness all wrapped into one.

I was her first grandchild (born shortly after the passing of my grandfather) and have been honored with the gift of learning her story in pieces as she continues to process it—always waking each day by thanking her Creator. She is a cancer survivor, a survivor of the colonization of New Mexico, and a living witness to history, remembering the white flakes that fell from the sky after the Trinity Atomic Bomb explosion.

95 years of perseverance.
95 years of love.
95 years of legacy.

Happy 95th Birthday, Grandma!
Thank you for the dances, the donuts, the protection, and the prayers.

My quick drawing of Keith Haring as Waldo is my playful nod to the years he spent underground—literally—turning New York City subway stations into open-air galleries. Between 1980 and 1985, Haring filled unused ad panels with fast, fearless white-chalk drawings made for commuters, not collectors. Art you encountered on your way to work. Art that didn’t ask permission.

Waldo felt like the right disguise. Haring was everywhere and nowhere at once—anonymous, fleeting, easy to miss if you weren’t paying attention. His subway drawings were meant to be found in motion, absorbed in passing, speaking to everyday people about joy, resistance, unity, and urgency.
This piece is a reminder that some of the most powerful art lives in public space—temporary, accessible, and hiding in plain sight.