Sydney
Guzman
September 1, 2025
Volume 2
Issue 9
Gideon’s Bakery: What do you like about painting?
Sydney Guzman: Growing up, I hadn’t seen many paintings in person — most of what I knew came from images online or in books. But even in reproduction, I fell in love with them: their color, their texture, the way they carried so much presence. When I finally saw paintings in real life, my eyes were in awe. They felt so alive and still at the same time — they exist in a mystical, imaginary world of their own.
When I started painting in school, I felt like a magician — paint was my magic, and I guess so was my hand. I discovered that painting could hold things I struggled to express in other mediums. It’s physical and intuitive.
Painting makes me feel so many things while I’m making. Sometimes I feel completely free and open; other times I’m closed off, hiding in the work. I think painting has a way of revealing things about an artist — it becomes a kind of mirror or exchange. It helps me understand parts of myself I don’t always want to admit or that I haven’t fully seen yet. It’s a friend that’s honest and blunt — which I appreciate most.
GB: You describe painting as both a mirror and a kind of friend — honest, blunt, even mystical. Has painting ever revealed something about yourself that surprised or unsettled you? And if so, did that change the way you approached your work afterward?
SG: Yes, definitely. I wouldn’t say it’s unsettling, but when I first realized some of these things, I was surprised that a painting could hold and reveal so much about me.
Painting has shown me that I’m kind of an organized mess — and that shows up in both my studio and the work itself. Some of my paintings that feel stiff or overworked are often the ones where I know I was trying too hard. They’re still my hand, my ideas, but they lack a certain honesty. I can tell in the brushwork when I’ve been too caught up in how something is supposed to turn out, instead of letting the process lead me.
When I find myself in that kind of funk, I have a song I return to — September Fields by Frazey Ford. There’s a line in it: “All you have to do is wonder” and “Are you holding on so tight?” — and somehow, it gives me permission to let my guard down.
Other times, the paintings reveal emotional truths that aren’t always visible in the imagery. I grew up in an emotionally unstable home. I love my mom — she’s been really supportive of my art career and has always shown up for me in her own ways — but navigating the impact of her alcoholism while growing up has been difficult. I think that’s where a lot of my desire for escape or distance comes from. There’s often a sense of searching in my work, of wanting to be somewhere else, guided by animals and insects as spiritual beings — while also holding a longing to feel whole or held together.
Over time, that realization has shifted how I approach painting. I try to be more intuitive and to let go more. That’s still hard for me — some days it’s easier than others. If something isn’t working, I’ll wipe it away, start over, or paint over an old painting. I’m learning, still, to embrace the mess instead of hiding it. I don’t want to be an artist who hides from their inner truths — and even when something does hide in one painting, it always finds a way to come out in another.
GB: Several of your works—A Moth Landed in My Lap and I Held On Tightly, The Moth that Wept with Me, Saving the Insects, and We Watched the Birds and they Watched us Back—evoke a vivid connection between humans and delicate creatures. What draws you to depict moments of empathy or mutual observation between us and other species, and how does that dynamic reflect your personal journey or artistic philosophy?
SG: I’ve always been drawn to animals and insects, even since I was a child—I actually thought I wanted to be a veterinarian when I was little. Many of the encounters in my paintings are inspired by real-life interactions I’ve had, filtered through whatever emotions I’m navigating at the time. I sometimes feel like the universe sends an animal my way with a message—maybe as reassurance that I’m on the right path, or as a small gesture of symbolism and guidance. Whenever that happens, I’ll often look up the meaning behind the creature to see what it might be offering me.
In my recent insect paintings, I was responding both to my personal life and to the weather around me, as well as my curiosity about what happens to insects when it’s pouring. Maybe I could save them, or maybe they could save me—by keeping me company. It’s usually sunny in Texas, but during that time there were storms and heavy rains, which mirrored a kind of gloom I was processing, along with the presence of all the bugs that gathered near my balcony at night. That feeling led to works like A Moth Landed in My Lap and I Held on Tightly, The Moth that Wept with Me, and Saving the Insects. My painting We Watched the Birds and They Watched Us Back grew out of seeing birds pacing around outside my apartment building, paired with the influence of Philip Guston’s Couple in Bed painting. There’s something funny and beautiful about those moments—when you lock eyes with a bird and realize you’re both watching each other.
These interactions, whether humorous or symbolic, keep me paying attention. They remind me not to miss the small signs of connection around me, and that sense of empathy and awareness is something I carry into my artistic practice.
Sydney Guzman (b.1997, McAllen, TX) earned her Master of Fine Arts degree from the LeRoy E. Hoffberger School of Painting at the Maryland Institute College of Art in the spring of 2023, following her Bachelor of Fine Arts degree from Texas State University in 2021.
Currently based in Austin, Guzman is a lecturer in the School of Art and Design at Texas State University in San Marcos, TX. Her practice centers on immersive, layered works that explore personal growth, the cycles of nature, and the complexities of self-discovery. Her work has been exhibited nationally at museums and galleries including The Peale Museum (Baltimore, MD), Spellerberg Projects (Lockhart, TX), 82Paris (Portland, ME), and Ivester Contemporary (Austin, TX), among others.