About Esteban Amaro

Visual artist and photographer blurring the limits of mediums like photography, sculpture, video, installation and AI; somewhere in between minimalism, the universal questions and the environment.
Redefining concepts like time, space, and immensity, conveying a profound connection and interrelation with the universe and with the environment. Rooted in experimentation, contemplation, and ancestral wisdom, Amaro crafts a reality that reinterprets our understanding of the world; a blend of natural and supernatural elements, shifts perception and invites exploration of the unknown.
Represented by Mahara + Co in Miami and ArtStar in New York, Amaro’s work have been exhibited in New York, Miami, London, Santiago de Chile, Concepción, Valparaíso and in the Metaverse, with important galleries and curators such as: Obscura, Artcrush Gallery, Monolith Gallery, Factoría Santa Rosa, Mahara + Co and more.
A selection of important recognitions include; second place in the International Photography Awards, finalist and exhibition in the young art competition at the MAVI Visual Arts Museum in Santiago de Chile, and honorable mentions in prestigious competitions such as the Minimalist Photography Awards, The Independent Photographer, Monochrome Awards and Fine Art Photography Awards.
An interview with Esteban Amaro led by Carlo Borloni


If the future truly hides within the past, as the title suggests, what do you think we are forgetting today that will come back to define us tomorrow?
We’ve forgotten where we come from, from the stars. We are part of something bigger that exists both out there and within us, and when you understand that, everything changes. Thoughts of the whole emerge, of each of us as beings, and of how we journey through this reality as it unfolds in this particular universe.
We are part of this planet, and at the same time, part of many other unknown places and times. I think this is fundamental to my work, and it’s why some of the pieces feel as if they belong to this world, while others seem to belong to an alien one. We don’t know if we or someone else built them, or when they were created. In that sense, the mystery surrounding our origin is something incredible, something that defines us.


Your architectures seem to remember something that never actually happened. What kind of memory moves through these works: personal, collective, or something older than the human itself?
Good question. I think it’s all of these forms of memory combined. On one hand, there is a personal memory, my mind visualizing and, in a way, creating these moments. Initially, these images appear in my brain or subconscious; some come almost like a dream, or a memory of a place I’ve never been.
At the same time, there is something collective, since these structures feel primordial and universal, calling to us all. And finally, they also come from a very ancient, elemental, fundamental time, something that existed before the first stone tools, something no human has seen, but that we all somehow feel as part of our history.


In this series, matter is never stable. It is crossed by a constant tension, as if it were on the verge of changing state. What draws you to this moment of instability, before things settle into a definitive form?
The transformation of natural and ancestral elements is a kind of journey in each work. Some structures are almost suspended in time, slowly transmuting in an almost eternal way, while others seem to be in rapid, constant motion, like the beat of a song.
We are all evolving, and these structures are a reflection of our evolution and our history. I see that analogy clearly in the work. In this second part, the structures seem to be moving and interacting with matter, perhaps in an attempt to activate something in the sand, in the elements, in us, a way of creating atmosphere, life. We don’t know. They feel alive, and in that sense, they become a representation of our history and our ancestors.


Artificial intelligence in your work does not appear as a machine that produces images, but as a consciousness that observes time. What can AI perceive that human beings have stopped noticing?
I believe AI can reconstruct the past and see toward the future, and that it is beginning to form a new kind of consciousness, increasingly self-aware, capable of processing vast amounts of information. Combined with human input, it can help us reach places we were not capable of before. That alone makes it incredibly powerful.
I see it as an augmentation of our capacity to see and perceive, to reconstruct, to relive, to dive deeper, and ultimately to connect the dots while abstracting both the gaze and the material world.


These sculptures do not assert themselves as monuments, but as provisional presences, almost fragile ones. Is this a distancing from the idea of eternity in art, or a different way of imagining it?
The idea of eternity is still present in this second part, but in a way we might not immediately recognize. Perhaps it appears in another form. Will this sand structure eventually fall to the desert floor? And what will happen when it does? Will the DNA of this sand being mix with the DNA of the beings who first walked these deserts?
What comes next is an essential part of the work. It invites us to imagine both what happened before and what will follow.
In the art world, there has always been a fascination with eternity, with our origins, and even with other beings, with aliens. This fascination has existed since humankind first looked at the sky and painted images on stone walls, and it is also deeply present in these works, in these impossible structures.


In your practice, myth is not illustrated but reactivated. What role can myth still play in a world governed by data, speed, and prediction?
Myths are now more important than ever, precisely because we live in an almost entirely digital world. I believe we must use the digital tools we have in order to create more time to return to the stones, to the sand, and to find new ways of looking at myths, perhaps even uncovering truths beyond myth itself.
It’s fascinating to think that the reality we are living in so deeply immersed in data and technology could ultimately open the door for us to return to the earth.
As in ancient myths, stories of wars in the heavens, of beings arriving in this world, of dragons in the air, these legends are ingrained in us. These works are also a kind of myth, a lost story. Through these images, we can feel that we are reconnecting with that lost world, the world of myths, rituals, and ancestors.


The images seem to be captured in an instant that belongs neither to before nor after. What is your relationship with suspended time, with waiting, with that which does not happen yet continues to vibrate?
These sculptures, unidentified in a way, do not respond to conventional laws of time. They exist in a different space, one of timelessness, transcending before and after. Everywhere at once.
We don’t know if they happened or if they will happen, but they exist somewhere, like a memory that remains in the mind. They continue to create waves throughout an untold story. I am always thinking about that place, a place that exists outside of time.


In Part 2, the millenary stones transform into impossible, almost luminous structures. Is this a transformation of matter, or of the gaze that observes it?
It is both. We witness structures transmuting and giving way to new forms of life, while our perspective also evolves. Ancient structures appear to change, just as we do. It’s a gaze that transforms both within us and in the shifting external landscape of the work.


There is an alchemical dimension in your work: the fusion of light, form, and memory. Do you believe art still has the power to transform those who look at it, rather than merely represent something?
Art does have a transformative power, similar to what people experienced in ancient times with the arrival of beings from other worlds. Moments of inexplicable lights, crosses, and circles in the sky, or phenomena like the aurora borealis and shooting stars, had a profound impact on people and were often seen as signs of the future.
The work is inspired by that feeling and aims to transmit it. It becomes a kind of spiritual journey for each person, one that invites contemplation, reflection, and openness to the unknown.
I also believe these works represent something not entirely tangible. They carry a message that is intertwined with transformation, where everything merges: the viewer’s vision, memory, the subconscious, light and the invisible.


If these works are bridges between what has been and what could be, what happens in the space between the two shores? Is that where the work truly takes place?
Absolutely. That space is where the work resides. It is a distant place, an opening between our consciousness and the rest of the cosmos, an unlimited space not tied to any specific location or time, capable of traversing what we know and entering an infinite, interdimensional realm.
Your question reminds me of Carl Sagan’s famous quote about standing on the shore of the cosmic ocean. I think we are still on that shore, but perhaps not for much longer. With new ways of seeing, and with new forms of artificial intelligence, we may finally be beginning to dive deeper into that vast cosmic ocean.

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