We recently had the chance to connect with Sebastian Isaac Vela and have shared our conversation below.
Hi Sebastian Isaac, thank you so much for joining us today. We’re thrilled to learn more about your journey, values and what you are currently working on. Let’s start with an ice breaker: What makes you lose track of time—and find yourself again?
Honestly, it always comes back to love. I lose track of time when I’m creating something for someone I care about, whether it’s an intimate dinner, a birthday, a wedding, or even a business launch. When I love someone, there’s no internal meter that says, “Okay, that’s enough.” I pour myself into the experience fully, almost instinctively.
Curating moments for the people closest to me pulls me into a different rhythm, one where time blurs and the only thing that matters is honoring the person in front of me. And strangely, in giving like that, I end up finding parts of myself again. The process reminds me why I became an artist in the first place. It’s not just about documenting life through a lens. It’s about crafting spaces and memories that let people feel seen, celebrated, and suspended in a moment that feels almost frozen in time.
A lot of that comes from where I come from. My mother, my grandmother, the way they loved, the way they made ordinary moments feel intentional. And even deeper than that, it comes from my faith. I love people the way I do because I’ve experienced what it feels like to be loved without reservation. “We love because He first loved us” (1 John 4:19) My faith has always grounded me.
So when I’m creating for someone I cherish, it’s not just a project, it’s genuinely an extension of that love. It’s where time disappears… and where I reconnect with the root of who I am.
Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
My name is Sebastian Isaac Vela, and I’m a South Texas–based photographer and experiential artist whose work lives at the intersection of storytelling, design, and faith. My brand, Sebastian Isaac Photography, was born from a deep love for people and the desire to create spaces where they can feel seen, celebrated, and held in a moment that feels both cinematic and intimate.
I grew up surrounded by creativity—music, family traditions, women of tremendous faith—and all of that shaped the way I see the world. Photography became the language I use to honor those roots. What I do now extends far beyond taking a picture. I curate full experiences: the mood, the wardrobe, the intention, the emotion, the atmosphere. Every session is a collaboration, a small world built around someone’s story, allowing them to step into a version of themselves that feels both authentic and elevated.
What makes my work unique is the blend of artistry and presence. I’m faith-based in the sense that I create from a place of purpose—rooted in the belief that everyone carries a God-designed beauty worth honoring. It influences how I approach people with gentleness, how I hold space for vulnerability, and how I aim to capture not just what someone looks like, but what they carry. “Let your light shine before others” (Matthew 5:16) is a verse I return to often—not as a slogan, but as a reminder of the kind of work I want to put into the world.
Today, my brand has evolved into more than photography. I produce immersive sets, visual experiences, and celebrations—from birthdays to brand launches—that feel like small exhibitions of someone’s life. I’m currently working on expanding this into larger storytelling series that explore identity, culture, and purpose through a documentary-style lens.
At the heart of everything, my goal is simple: to create art that feels personal, intentional, and timeless. Images that don’t just live on a screen, but live in someone’s spirit. Moments that feel like they were always meant to be remembered.
Thanks for sharing that. Would love to go back in time and hear about how your past might have impacted who you are today. Who were you before the world told you who you had to be?
Before the world tried to shape me, I was a child who created without boundaries. I was a musician before I knew what music theory was, an artist before I had words like “creative direction” or “composition.” I grew up in a home where my voice was never something to shrink—it was something to honor. My family didn’t mold me into what they thought I should become; they paid attention to the places where I came alive, and they nurtured those sparks until they turned into purpose. I’m endlessly grateful for that.
And yet, as I grew up, I also entered a world that made me question if someone like me—an openly gay man who loves God deeply—was allowed to hold both identities without apology. There was a time when I let other people’s interpretations of God speak louder than God Himself. A time when discernment got tangled with shame, and conviction got confused with condemnation. I tried to navigate the middle ground between what I knew of His love and what people insisted it should look like.
But before all of that noise, before the world told me who I had to be, I was a kid who simply loved God. Purely. Honestly. With curiosity, not fear. I didn’t yet know that theology could become a weapon or that identity could become a battlefield. I just knew Him as love. And returning to that simplicity has been one of the greatest restorations of my life.
As an adult, as an artist, I create now with that original freedom in mind—the freedom to express, to celebrate, to honor beauty without restraint. Every detail I notice, every intentional choice I make, every moment I craft is rooted first and foremost in my relationship with God. My creativity isn’t separate from my faith—it’s born from it.
So who was I before the world told me who I had to be?
I was a child with a fearless imagination, a heart wide open, a faith unburdened by politics or judgment. And in many ways, through healing, through honesty, through art, I’ve found my way back to him.
What have been the defining wounds of your life—and how have you healed them?
Some of the deepest wounds in my life came from being in spaces with people I loved — family, father figures, relationships, mentors, friends — and feeling the sting of abandonment in places where I expected safety. When you hold someone with admiration and vulnerability, you assume they’ll hold you just as carefully. You build this quiet confidence that certain people will never forsake you. But the truth is, everyone is human. Everyone is carrying their own weight, their own unspoken battles, their own fractures. And sometimes, in trusting them completely, you forget to leave room for their imperfections.
For a long time, I didn’t understand that. I interpreted distance as rejection, silence as dismissal, and broken promises as reflections of my own worth. I didn’t know that what I was longing for wasn’t consistency from people — it was security from God. I kept trying to pour my need for safety into hands that were never meant to hold it.
Healing began when I realized that no human love, no matter how good, can stand in the place of God. And once that truth settled in me, something inside shifted. I stopped asking people to carry pieces of my heart they were never equipped to sustain. I stopped resenting them for being human. I released the heaviness I had been collecting — not in anger, but in understanding.
Letting go didn’t mean dismissing the hurt; it meant returning it to the only One strong enough to transform it. My relationship with God became the place where I learned that abandonment is not the end of a story — it’s an invitation to anchor myself in something eternal. And from that space, I could love people again, without fear, without conditions, and without needing them to be perfect.
Those wounds didn’t disappear overnight, but they taught me how to love with clarity instead of desperation, with discernment instead of fear, and with grace instead of expectation.
I think our readers would appreciate hearing more about your values and what you think matters in life and career, etc. So our next question is along those lines. How do you differentiate between fads and real foundational shifts?
For me, the difference is always in the intention. Fads are loud, fast, and temporary — they ask for attention. Foundational shifts are quiet and steady — they carry purpose.
In my work as an artist, I’ve learned that anything created from a place of meaning will outlast the moment. Trends come and go, but intention has longevity. When something is rooted in authenticity, in who you are and what you’re called to create, it naturally leads rather than follows. It builds its own momentum.
I pay attention to how something sits in my spirit. If it feels rushed, performative, or disconnected from my identity, it’s probably a fad. But if it aligns with my values, elevates my craft, or deepens the experience for the people I create for, that’s a foundational shift — something worth investing in.
At the end of the day, purpose has a longer life span than popularity. Anything built with intention will never be reduced to a trend, because it’s anchored in something far deeper.
Okay, so let’s keep going with one more question that means a lot to us: What is the story you hope people tell about you when you’re gone?
I hope people say that I spent my life giving God the glory — not just in my words, but in the way I loved, created, and showed up in the world. That every detail I touched, every moment I curated, every photograph I framed carried a quiet intention to honor something bigger than myself.
And I hope they say I loved people well. That I made them feel beautiful, seen, and celebrated in ways they didn’t always know they deserved. That my presence made room for others to feel safe in their own skin, their own stories, their own becoming.
More than anything, I hope the story people tell about me is one of intention — that I lived with my heart wide open, that I poured into others without reservation, and that I used whatever gifts God gave me to remind people of their worth. Not because I was perfect, but because I believed deeply in the power of making someone feel valued, even if only for a moment.
If that’s the legacy, then that’s enough for me.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://www.sebastianisaac.com/
- Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/sebastianisaac_photography/profilecard/?igsh=NGhpcDEzN3Z3Y2Y3
- Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/sebastianisaacphotography?mibextid=LQQJ4d
