Why I Paint | Esteban

I never set out to become a painter.

I was raised in Louisiana—in a world where music wasn’t just background noise; it was how you reached God. My childhood was shaped by the heat of working-class life and the emotional intensity of Pentecostal churches, where sound could shake walls and color didn’t just decorate—it meant something. Red was fire. Gold was glory. Blue was deep calling to deep.

I never set out to become a painter.

I was raised in Louisiana—in a world where music wasn’t just background noise; it was how you reached God. My childhood was shaped by the heat of working-class life and the emotional intensity of Pentecostal churches, where sound could shake walls and color didn’t just decorate—it meant something. Red was fire. Gold was glory. Blue was deep calling to deep.

Color became my language again.

People sometimes ask me why I use so much of it—why the paintings are so bold, so textured, so alive. I tell them the truth: I grew up hearing that the throne of God is surrounded by a rainbow. If that’s true—then every color is a kind of visitation. Even the cracked ones. Even the dark ones. Even a wilted flower or a woman staring off into space can carry that echo of the divine.

I live between worlds now. Between English and Spanish. Between the first world and the third. Between Louisiana and Honduras. Between the man I used to be and the one I’m still becoming.

This page is where I tell the story behind the brush.
If you find yourself caught in the middle of things too—maybe you’ll feel at home here.

—Esteban.

When I eventually left the U.S. and rooted myself in Honduras, I thought I was stepping into something completely different. But in some ways, it was more familiar than I expected. The same heat. The same ache. The same deep hunger for spirit and survival. Violence, joy, faith, and movement—sometimes all in the same hour. I picked up painting later in life, not out of ambition, but out of necessity. I needed a pressure valve. I needed a way to get things out of my chest and onto something that could hold them.

Whether we’re feeding hungry children, bringing medical care to remote villages, or giving Christmas to a child who might’ve gone without—every time you buy a piece of Esteban art, you’re helping change a life.

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