In the care of a collector in Miami, Sydnie Jimenez’s self-portrait stands tall, immortalizing her and her twin sister, Haylie, in a side-by-side embrace. “The person who bought it is also a twin,” the 25-year-old says.
Reaching about four feet in height, the sculpture emanates a sweet and soothing presence. Haylie’s clay fingernails and toenails are painted glossy black, in contrast to Sydnie’s vibrant crimson ones. Both sisters don two-piece ensembles, lovingly baring their skin for all to see. “My sister is a tattoo artist, and she drew all of our tattoos,” Sydnie says proudly. This self-portrait—self-expression as a tool of protest—mirrors her profound connection to her identity.
Courtesy the artist
Family is an anchor for Jimenez, and Haylie has been a constant source of support. “Sometimes family can be difficult but they can also be there for you and hold you up,” she says. “Not everybody has that, and I cherish it a lot.”
Born in Orlando, Florida, and raised in Rossville, Georgia, Jimenez’s multicultural background—as the child of a Dominican father and white mother—is etched into her art. Growing up in rural Georgia, she found herself questioning her single mother’s perspective on race. “My mom was like, ‘Your dad wasn’t Black, he was Dominican,’” Jimenez recalls. “Dominican is an ethnicity, that’s not a race.” She adds:
“I came to the realization that race is a construct. I’m learning about the Dominican Republic and the racial mixing there. It was one of the first stops of the transatlantic slave trade, so enslaved Africans were there. The Taíno population was there, which is the Indigenous population, and then the Spaniards came. So Dominicans are kind of a mix of all of them. But also, I learned that I’m Black because that is how Americans treat me—because of how I look, my facial features, and my skin color.”
Jimenez’s artistic journey began with an ordinary childhood pastime: “All kids draw, and I just kept drawing.” She and her twin attended the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. During her time there, she discovered her passion for ceramics, a choice partly motivated by practicality. “I was a broke college student paying for all these materials, and one of my TAs was like, ‘You should sign up for a ceramics class because all of those materials are free.’”
After her graduation in 2020, Jimenez planned to visit the Dominican Republic, seeking art and a deeper bond to her roots. But the pandemic put those plans on hold. With the support of a grant, Jimenez secured a studio space in Pilsen, dedicating a year to creating art for her debut solo exhibition, “Skirts and Hoodies,” at Lucy Lacoste Gallery in Concord, Massachusetts. “Worrying about money is a real thing, so when I first started, I would make cups,” Jimenez says. “That would be my main income to fund the sculpture practice I was doing. Then people started buying sculptures, so I don’t really make cups that much anymore.”
This pivotal period led to a two-year residency at the Archie Bray Foundation in Helena, Montana. Now back in Chicago’s art scene, she’s embarking on a yearlong residency at the Lillstreet Art Center in Ravenswood.
The Art Institute of Chicago and its rich Mesoamerican and African art collection were a boundless source of inspiration for Jimenez. “When people think of sculptures, they think it’s Greek or Roman, and that’s not very inclusive,” she says. Ceramicists like En Iwamura and Natalia Arbelaez, along with comics and animation, also deeply influenced her work.
Courtesy the artist
Each of Jimenez’s sculptures possess a unique persona, expressing themselves through attire and demeanor, channeling the queer punk and metal scene, Internet subcultures, and hypebeast aesthetics. Together they form a resilient community, balancing defiance with vulnerability, and celebrating the power of the individual and the collective. As Jimenez intends, they’re an embodiment of the essence of Black and Brown youth.
With their cartoonish and emotive features, her sculptures exude a childlike spirit. They’re deliberately racially ambiguous and meant to transcend the confines of gender, countering the historical erasure of non-white cultures. In doing so, they underscore the urgency of representing Black and Brown bodies in figurative art.
They’re also political statements, challenging Eurocentric ideals that dictate how we perceive people of color and their self-conception in relation to whiteness. “They’re all individuals, and I think that’s important,” Jimenez says about her figures. “It’s a form of control to differentiate yourself. But at the same time, you can have similarities with people.”
Jimenez’s exhibition “How Aweful Goodness Is” at the Mindy Solomon Gallery in Miami explored the complexities of “goodness” and “righteousness,” concepts often weaponized against marginalized people. One of her figures, Maria, stands four feet tall, plunging a sword into the ground. She sports a striped zip-up, a midi skirt, sneakers, and frilly white socks. Tears of blood appear to rush down her face, and a tattoo on her forehead reads, “Blessed.”
“Some say Mary, the mother of God, is a protector of women and that her wrath is something to behold,” Jimenez writes in her Instagram caption of a photo of the piece. “Instead of a glorified womb and symbol of humble purity, I see her more like an avenging angel.”
Jimenez’s creative process flows organically, “depending on what music I’m listening to, or how I’m feeling, or what I’m thinking about,” she says. “I get more emotional with figurative work.” Lately, she’s been listening to rap, metal, and rock music, with artists like Young Thug, Type O Negative, and Slipknot fueling her creativity.
Working with clay allows Jimenez to visualize her creations from all angles, a process she describes as second nature. “My brain is just wired to 3D now. I don’t know how to render in 2D anymore,” she says. “The only planning I do is, ‘I’m going to make this figure.’ I start with the shoes, and I use coils, so I build up that way.”
As she settles into Chicago, Jimenez is excited to connect with fellow artists and expand her teaching experience. An upcoming show at the Charlie James Gallery in Los Angeles this November, alongside her sister’s work, promises to be another milestone. She also plans to showcase her work at Miami Beach’s Untitled Art Fair. “Something I really want to do is make large-scale public art,” she says.
As a teacher, Jimenez offers a somewhat ironic piece of advice for emerging artists: don’t always listen to your professors. “It’s just their opinion, they’re just people, and they’re also artists with their own taste, so make what you want.” Also, “You don’t have to go to art school to be a professional artist. You just have to make work.”
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