By Sorayda D. León
There are people who seem to carry an entire landscape within them. It is as if certain places in the world have not only left their mark on them, but continue to breathe through them. In Sydney Duarte’s case, that place has a name: Lake Atitlán, in Guatemala.
Surrounded by volcanoes and imbued with an energy that various cultures describe as spiritual, Atitlán still lives on in the way Sydney builds community, listens to others, and transforms spaces into sanctuaries.
“They say there are energy vortexes around the Earth, and that’s one of them. You can feel something special in the air,” he shares during our conversation.
Perhaps that is why, when exploring projects likethe TAOH Outdoor Galleryor Luminous Lane in Charlotte, one feels something that is hard to explain rationally: a blend of freedom, collective care, and a sense of belonging. It is as if these spaces had been built not only with wood, paint, and sculptures, but also with memory, grief, migration, and hope.
Sydney doesn't talk about art as a decorative object; she talks about it as a human necessity, as a form of healing.
“So many people come here saying that this is their happy place, their sanctuary, their therapeutic space,” she explains, pointing to the walls covered with murals, swings, makeshift sculptures, and people creating without fear.
TAOH Outdoor Gallery started out as a space for painting, but it eventually became something much bigger: a gathering place for artists, skaters, photographers, book clubs, cyclists, musicians, and people who simply needed some company. It’s a space that’s open 24 hours a day, lit by solar power, where the only rules are respect and the freedom to express oneself.
In a city where institutional art can often feel distant or inaccessible, Sydney embraces a different approach: art as a unifying force for the community.
And perhaps that way of caring goes back much further.
During the interview, Sydney constantly recalls her grandmother María, whom everyone affectionately called “Mita” in Guatemala. A woman who raised eight children on her own after her husband died when Sydney’s father was just three years old. In addition to supporting her family, she also ran a school. She remembers her as an almost magical figure, with silver hair tinged slightly with purple, crossing the waves of Lake Atitlán in small boats at sunset.
“I can feel my grandmother with me all the time,” she says. And in fact, that presence seems to extend to everyone who comes to her spaces seeking refuge, conversation, or simply a place to be without judgment.
Sydney grew up straddling two worlds: Kentucky and Guatemala. The daughter of a Guatemalan father and an American mother, she spent much of her life trying to figure out how to navigate both identities at the same time. In Guatemala, she found something that would profoundly shape her worldview: a community that embraces before it questions.
“It doesn’t matter whether you speak the language or not. They welcome you, feed you, dance with you, and make you feel like one of them,” he recalls.
That philosophy of belonging permeates everything he does today.
For years, she worked in the corporate world in Charlotte. Sixteen years of rigid structures, endless hours, and a life that gradually began to pull her away from her creative center. Until one day she decided to leave. She traded certainty for movement.
He began traveling through Couchsurfing, staying with strangers in different parts of the world, sharing stories, volunteering, and engaging in creative projects. He traveled through New Zealand, Australia, Bali, South Africa, Madagascar, and much of Latin America.
In every place, he left something behind: murals, workshops, human connections, or simply a listening ear.
“Deep down, we humans all want the same thing: connection,” he reflects.
His travels also strengthened another important aspect of his work: advocating for indigenous communities and nature. In Brazil, for example, he works alongside Asháninka communities fighting to protect Amazonian territories threatened by illegal mining, logging, and deforestation. Part of his future artistic vision includes painting indigenous faces in urban spaces to compel people to stop and ask themselves who these people are and why their stories matter.
In Sydney, art is never separate from everyday life. Nor is it separate from emotional healing.
She speaks openly about trauma, anxiety, depression, and the urgent need to create safe spaces for those who have never had them. She firmly believes that unexpressed pain ends up being projected onto others, and that art can break that cycle.
“If you don’t heal the trauma, it ends up being taken out on other people,” she explains.
That’s why he insists so much on letting others take up space—whether they’re painting, writing, or simply existing—but always leaving their mark.
Perhaps that is the true meaning of his projects: not just to beautify walls, but to remind people that they belong.
At a time when so many migrant communities are living amid uncertainty, displacement, and fear, Sydney seems determined to create small emotional havens where it is still possible to breathe.
Places where someone can arrive without knowing a soul and end up feeling seen, just as they did at Mita’s house by Lake Atitlán. It’s as if that Guatemalan vortex of energy had crossed borders to settle quietly in Charlotte.
Learn more about Sydney Duarte on herInstagram
Photos: Courtesy of the artist