The crackle of burning embers fills the living room — that primal sound that’s comforted humans since we first tamed fire. Wood smoke mingles with the lingering scent of pine needles from the Christmas tree and leftover scented Christmas candles. Outside and across the backyard at my art studio, the porch by the outdoor fireplace has become our gathering place for holiday moments, including that magical night when old painting friends reunited — brushes in one hand, Christmas cookies in the other, a model to pose,15 years of weekly painting nights warming us as much as the flames.

The Box in the Garage

This weekend we’ll be boxing decorations, each ornament wrapped and boxes labeled, stored on sagging garage shelves until next year’s resurrection. Time to remove the wreaths, the four-foot toy soldier, and the Christmas lights. It’s the ritual of transition — the careful packing away of one season to make room for whatever comes next. And we are entering a new season.

But there’s another project that’s been haunting me that finally got attention this week. Thousands of photos finally made it from old hard drives to my phone/cloud. Still waiting: more years, more boxes, slides from the pre-digital era when every shot cost money and seemed to matter more.

My father spent his last decade scanning every photo he’d ever taken in his life. Organized them. Uploaded them. What a gift — his entire visual history, our childhood, his childhood, all searchable, all saved. Now that torch passes to me. First Christmas decorations come down, then the garage that’s been ignored for a decade, and then, if there’s time, attack the photos.

When Pixels Become Portals

Here’s what they don’t tell you about old photos: They’re time machines with faulty steering.

One minute you’re organizing files, the next you’re reminiscing over a friend who’s gone, or tearing up seeing your kids as babies, their faces round with possibility. Old photos are reminders of good times and tough times, yet those tough times don’t seem as bad now. Looking at photos is bittersweet, especially as two of the kids won’t be here after Christmas. 

My son Berkeley is moving five hours away for his dream job next week. Brady is already on his own and supporting himself. Grace will stick around as she’s starting a new job next week. Bittersweet because I remember when I became independent and never again lived at home, and I know those kids may not be here for any length of time again. The house grows quieter. We celebrate their launches while mourning the noise.

The Fat Kid Still Lives Here

Then came the photos I wasn’t ready for. Elementary school. That overweight kid with greasy hair and thick glasses who didn’t have the strength to climb the rope. The gym teacher who used my struggles for cheap laughs. The locker room towel snaps. The whispers, the snickers, the pointing, the bullying. I had not seen those photos for several decades, and the moment I did, the pain returned. I quickly realized that the very same pain is stuck in my subconscious mind, which speaks up to prevent more pain when making decisions.

It was an “aha moment” for me, an epiphany of sorts. Years of being mocked as the weak fat kid explains why I have to fight myself daily to work out, and why I tend to overeat. The mocking undermines my confidence in certain situations, quietly in the dark corners of my brain.

Decades later, when strangers laugh in a restaurant, my first instinct? They’re laughing at me. My adult brain knows better. My child brain doesn’t care about logic, which explains why some goals never get achieved — because my self-esteem in some areas is rotten from my first 10 or 12 years.

The Stories We Tell Ourselves

Author and hypnotist Jim Curtis explained it perfectly on Lewis Howes’ podcast last week: Our self-talk programs our subconscious mind, which drives 85% of our decisions. Those childhood experiences become our “I am” statements:

“I am fat.”
“I am not athletic.”
“I am the one they mock.”

Curious, I looked it up, and research from Stanford’s Carol Dweck backs this up — our mindset literally shapes our reality. Neuroscientist Dr. Joe Dispenza’s brain scan research shows how repeated thoughts create neural highways that become our default patterns. Negative thoughts and negative talk actually impact your outcomes.

My buddy Chris used to mock my positive mindset. “Be careful what you say,” I’d warn him when he’d complain about work killing him. “Your subconscious is listening.”

Turns out, it really is.

The “But” That Breaks Dreams

This week — this quiet week between Christmas and New Year’s — might be your most important of 2025. Because right now, you’re considering setting some goals or making New Year’s resolutions.

But here’s the trap: State any goal out loud. Listen quietly to what your brain says immediately after.

“I want to double my income … but I’m not smart enough.”
“I want to get in shape … but I’ve never been athletic.”
“I want to write that book … but who would read it?”
“I want to meet Elon Musk … but why would he care to hear anything I have to say?”
“I want to be successful enough to own my own jet … but I’ll never be rich enough.”

Those “buts” are assassins. They murder dreams before they draw their first breath.

The research states that you need to place yourself in your “I am” statements even if you don’t believe them. “I am a world-class artist.” “I am the president of my company.” “I am the owner of a Gulfstream jet.”

Rewriting the Operating System

We’ve all heard all the stuff about goal-setting, but the goal is only part of the story. There’s more that’s required. We need a strong reason why we want it. We need a deadline. We need to understand what we face so we know how to overcome those things, and we must absolutely reprogram those “but” comments that float into our consciousness when we set a goal.

It looks like this:

Goal: What you want
Purpose: Why it matters to you (make this huge)
Deadline: Exactly when it needs to be done (not “someday”)
Roadblocks: External obstacles to overcome
Beliefs: The internal saboteurs

That last one — that’s where the real work lives.

Because that overweight kid who couldn’t climb the rope? He was traumatized at 12. But why is a grown man still letting a 12-year-old’s pain run his life? He doesn’t have to, yet most of us are carrying far too much PERCEIVED trauma from our past.

The Paradox of Comfort in Pain

Here’s the sick psychology of it: Sometimes we stay broken because broken feels safe. I just learned that psychologists call it “repetition compulsion” — we recreate our wounds because familiar pain feels safer than unfamiliar healing. A misbehaving child gets more attention by misbehaving, and somehow, it feels comforting, even though he or she hates it.

But awareness is the first step toward rewiring.

What Matters Now

What are you still carrying from your childhood self that your adult self needs to release?

If, like me, you spent years with unrealized goals, it’s important to listen carefully to those voices in your head when you write down your goals and dreams. Take note, then work to reprogram and overcome those thoughts by trying to figure out what drove them in the first place. Then work to retrain your subconscious with rational adult thoughts instead of irrational childhood thoughts.

Unexamined beliefs are prison bars we build ourselves, and most of us don’t even realize we’re holding the key and have the ability to reprogram our past.

You probably have a little more time this week. What if you used it for self-examination? What are the old wounds that never healed? How are those wounds getting in the way of living your fullest life?

Here’s to burning what needs burning, keeping what needs keeping, reprogramming what needs to be changed, and knowing the difference.

Happy New Year.

Eric Rhoads

P.S. These three things would be a great start if you’re feeling undeserving or unqualified:
​
December 31 deadline is approaching for Winter Art Escape — a week in Hilton Head and Savannah, painting beside others, making friends who understand why we chase light and shadow. Details at winterartescape.com. 
​
January brings Watercolor Live — three days online with masters like Thomas Schaller, Shelley Prior, and Antonio Masi — 24 in total, teaching their secrets online. Whether you’re starting fresh or refining skills, this is your chance. Register at watercolorlive.com. 

​​May’s Plein Air Convention in the Ozarks — 1,200 artists, 80+ instructors, the world’s largest gathering of outdoor painters. Where else can you learn from and paint with dozens of top masters in one week? Lock in the lowest rates at pleinairconvention.com.

I’m watching the sunrise paint the limestone cliffs behind our home in shades of rose gold and amber — colors that would make any plein air painter reach for their brushes. Steam rises from my coffee cup, creating little ghost dancers in the morning light, and somewhere in the distance, a mourning dove is singing what sounds suspiciously like the first notes of “Silent Night.”

Eighty-one degrees on Christmas Day. That’s what the weatherman promises us here in Austin. While half the country dreams of Bing Crosby’s White Christmas, of frost etching the panes of cathedral windows, of that particular blue-silver light that only comes with fresh snow, we Texans will be hiking in shorts, maybe taking the kayaks out on the lake, listening to cardinals and mockingbirds provide the soundtrack to our holiday.

Memory’s Muffled Music

I close my eyes and I can still hear it, though — that specific muffled quiet that falls when snow begins to stick. Growing up in that smallish Midwestern town, Christmas morning had a sound all its own. The scrape of a neighbor’s shovel on concrete at dawn. The whoosh and thud of snow sliding off the roof. The delighted shriek of a child discovering footprints in the snow leading from the chimney to the front door. My mother’s voice calling from the kitchen. The smell of cinnamon rolls wrestling with the sharp scent of pine from our tree.

Funny how memory works. I can transport myself instantly to those snow-globe Christmases of childhood, yet here I sit, barefoot on my porch, listening to wind chimes play their random carols, watching a roadrunner investigate bird feeders. Both versions of Christmas are true. Both are perfect in their own way.

Gold Schwinn Dreams

Only at this time of year do I find myself excavating these Christmas memories like an archaeologist of joy. Some shine bright as new pennies — like that gold Schwinn bike that materialized on Christmas morning, the one I’d been manifesting for months, the one my parents swore we could never afford. I can still feel the cold metal of those handlebars under my mittened hands, still hear the tick-tick-tick of the playing cards we’d clothespin to the spokes as I rode across the crunchy snow on Christmas morning.

And there was that artist’s easel. Somewhere in a shoebox of fading photographs lies the evidence of that Christmas morning when God winked at a boy who didn’t yet know he’d spend his life chasing light across canvas. I’ve been hunting for that photo for decades now, like it holds some secret message from my younger self.

Thunder on Stairs

But you want to know the memory that makes my heart squeeze tight as a fist? Picture this: 3-year-old triplets, finally old enough to understand the magic of Christmas morning. We’d made them wait upstairs — cruel parents that we were — until we gave the signal. Then came the thunder of six little feet on stairs, the screaming joy that could’ve woken the neighbors three doors down, and those faces — oh, those faces when they rounded the corner and saw the tree lit up like heaven’s own chandelier, presents spilling out like a treasure chest had exploded in our living room.

That image burns behind my eyelids. Pure, distilled wonder. The kind that makes you understand why we do this whole elaborate dance every December.

Midnight Parent Magic

I’m sitting here now, watching the Texas sun climb higher, thinking about my parents staying up until 3 am assembling bicycles with instructions that might as well have been written in ancient Aramaic. About my mother’s hands, raw from wrapping-paper cuts, carefully arranging each gift just so. About my father eating those cookies we left for Santa, making sure to leave dramatic crumb trails. They were set designers, choreographers, magicians — and I never knew it until I found myself up at 3 am, Allen wrench in hand, muttering prayers that the wheels would actually stay on those bikes come morning.

Most days of childhood blur together like watercolors in the rain. But those orchestrated moments? Those deliberate acts of magic-making? They stand like lighthouses on memory’s shores.

What Actually Sticks

My kids surprise me sometimes with what stuck. Not always the expensive gifts or elaborate plans. Sometimes it’s the year the heat went out and we all snuggled to stay warm. Or the Christmas Eve we played silly games, laughing so hard we could barely breathe. 

Grandpa’s Sacred Calendar

My dad taught me something profound about grandparent love. He’d put everything on hold — everything — to be there for first haircuts, lost teeth, school plays, birthdays. His calendar revolved around those kids like planets around the sun. Watching him, I learned that being remembered isn’t about grand gestures. It’s about showing up. Again and again and again, even though he had to fly across the country to do it.

Mema’s Holy Stairs

My grandmother Mema had her own ritual. Christmas Eve on her stairs, all the cousins lined up like organ pipes, taking turns reading Luke’s gospel before anyone could touch a single present. We’d roll our eyes, shift from foot to foot, practically vibrating with anticipation. “And it came to pass in those days…” someone would begin, and we’d all groan internally, calculating how many verses until freedom.

But here’s the thing — that memory grafted itself onto my family’s DNA. Not a Christmas has passed without us gathered in our own living room, reading those same words about a baby in a manger, about shepherds and angels and a star that led wise men across deserts. My kids probably rolled their eyes too. And someday, God willing, they’ll make their own children stand still for just a moment, just long enough to remember what all this sparkle and sugar is really about.

Creating Tomorrow’s Memories

So here’s my challenge to you, with Christmas just around the corner: What memory are you creating this year? Forget the perfect Instagram moment. Forget the Pinterest-worthy table settings. What will your people remember in 30 years?

Maybe it’s a walk after dinner when the stars are so bright they seem fake, everyone’s breath making little prayers in the cold air. Maybe it’s teaching your grandson to paint his first sunset, or your child to hear the music in ordinary wind chimes.

The Loving Conspiracy

The gift isn’t the bike or the easel, though those can create lots of excitement. The gift is the elaborate lengths we go to make magic real, if only for a morning. The gift is showing up, year after year, until the showing up itself becomes the tradition.

I’m grateful to you for reading, for forwarding, and for responding or commenting. May your Christmas be filled with the kind of memories that last — the ones that sneak up on you years later and make you stop in the middle of an ordinary Tuesday, smiling at nothing anyone else can see.

Merry Christmas, friends. Every single blessed one of you. I’ll see you on YouTube at noon today, because part of what I try to do is also show up for my friends.

Eric Rhoads

PS: Last Minute Gifts, No Shipping Required

Watercolor Live – 4 Day Online Workshop with the World’s Leading Watercolor Artists

Give the gift of artistic growth this season. www.watercolorlive.com 

Winter Art Escape Artists Retreat – Last chance to register is New Year’s Eve

www.winterartescape.com 

The Plein Air Convention – Where the family of plein air painters gather each year to learn, grow, break bread and find joy
www.pleinairconvention.com

The fireplace in the living room crackles like small bones breaking, and the smell of burning cedar mingles with the steam rising from my mug of hot tea. Outside, the frigid cold arrived this past week to remind us winter is here — sudden, decisive, unapologetic. I’m bundled in blankets and fuzzy sweat pants.

My tea tastes particularly bitter this morning. Or maybe that’s just the aftertaste of an email I received last week. I know I shouldn’t let people get to me, but some things sting like winter wind through a cracked window.

The Surgical Strike

Sometimes life delivers pain when you least expect it. Earlier this week, between meetings and YouTube shows, an email struck with surgical precision: “Eric, your ego is out of control.”

I could have deleted it. Should have, maybe. Instead, I took the bait: “Thanks for the feedback, it usually is, but is there something specific you want to point out?”

To his credit, he didn’t retreat.

“You talk about yourself too much. You talk about how many houses you have too much, about all the portraits you have of yourself. You need to let the artists on your show shine and stop interrupting them.”

My response: “Thank you for pointing it out.”

And I meant it.

Mirrors and Angles

As hard as it is to see, sometimes we need someone to hold up a mirror at an unflattering angle. Because that is the funny thing about mirrors — different angles show different perspectives. Some might say my enthusiasm to know more is why I interrupt my daily YouTube show guests, acting as a representative of viewers who may not understand everything at the same level. If I can get the artist to explain something or go deeper, I’m going to step in and ask. Is that ego, or is that service? Is my interruption an act of narcissism or navigation?

Take those portraits he mentioned — thirty-plus paintings by the world’s greatest artists, many since deceased. Sure, commissioning that many portraits of yourself looks narcissistic from one angle. But tilt the mirror: I commissioned them to help keep portraiture alive, to give these masters meaningful exposure, to feature them in Fine Art Connoisseur and show the world that portrait painting from life still matters. It resulted in each of them selling dozens more portraits. Was it ego that drove me to sit for hours while these artists worked? Or was it patronage disguised as vanity?

The houses? I broadcast from different locations because that’s where life and business take me — it’s logistics, not showmanship. But I understand how it lands. Everything can be viewed through the lens of ego or the lens of purpose, and sometimes even I can’t tell which lens I’m looking through. But I’ll be more careful.

I don’t think I’m a narcissist, but I’ve battled my oversized ego my entire life. What I can’t decide is whether that’s a curse or a gift.

My Two Egos

There’s the ego that drives me forward — call it my engine — and the ego that needs applause — call it my needy child. The first confidently declares, “I can build something amazing.” The second insists, “Look how incredible MY contribution is.” One builds, one performs. Yet both spring from the same source, the same psyche, the same childhood insecurities transformed into adult ambitions.

Is it possible this flaw we call ego is also our superpower?

Domes and Blindness

I returned from Europe just a few weeks ago, and I can’t stop thinking about Brunelleschi’s massive dome atop the cathedral in Florence. He built it without scaffolding — a feat so remarkable that no one can figure out how he did it. And here’s the kicker: He refused to share his method, ensuring no one could build something as magnificent.

Was that selfish? Absolutely. Was it human? Undeniably. Was it necessary for greatness? That’s where things get interesting.

When Saint Basil’s Cathedral was completed in Moscow, legend says Ivan the Terrible had the architect Postnik Yakovlev blinded so he could never build anything more beautiful. That’s carrying ego way too far — when your need for supremacy literally destroys the eyes that created beauty.

The Builders’ Burden

I’ve never talked to a professional about this, but I wonder: If egos didn’t exist, would anything remarkable ever be built? Is it possible the world is shaped by egomaniacs who need to prove themselves, to show what they can do, to change the world in ways that outlive them?

I suspect the experts would say that the drive that ego creates is a positive thing, but that if you carry it too far, in a need for constant recognition, then maybe that’s a bad thing. Yet look upon the greats who have built great things over and over again, topping their prior achievements each time. If they are doing it for repeated recognition, isn’t that OK, because they are making massive contributions? Perhaps drive eventually transcends pure ego, motivation shifting from the need to prove oneself to having something valuable to contribute, with the ego providing fuel. It’s all beyond my pay grade.

Last summer in China — which was more amazing than I expected — I walked through cities so modern they made Manhattan look like an antique shop. Is this driven by collective Chinese ego, by the need to surpass other nations? Or is it simply the drive to be the best, regardless of recognition? And isn’t wanting to be the best just ego wearing a different mask?

Names We Remember

Would Apple exist without Steve Jobs’ legendary drive for revolutionary ideas? Would we have Facebook-Meta without Zuckerberg’s need to connect and control others? Would SpaceX launch without Elon Musk’s desire to be remembered as the man who made us multi-planetary? Would Dubai’s skyline pierce the clouds without someone’s desire to build the biggest and best? What about Gates, Firestone, Ford, Edison — people whose names we know precisely because their egos demanded we remember them?

Is there anything wrong with wanting to be the biggest and the best?

The Holy Paradox

Here’s what haunts me: I try to live biblically, to be humble, to give credit to my maker. Yet the same voice that calls me to humility also whispers: “Do bigger things, touch more lives, help more people.” But isn’t there some ego in believing you’re the one who should be doing the helping? Isn’t there pride in thinking your influence matters? What if we answered the whisper with, “No, let someone else do it”? Are we ignoring the will of our maker?

I’ll be the first to admit I’m proud of most of my career accomplishments. I’ve often coached people to write their obituary — not morbidly, but purposefully — listing what they want to have accomplished before they die, so they can make sure their list is complete before they stop. But if we can’t be proud of our accomplishments, why pursue them? Where do pride and humility meet? Can they coexist, or are they locked in eternal combat?

Harnessing the Monster

Maybe the answer isn’t to kill the ego but to harness it. Maybe it’s about recognizing that the same force that makes us insufferable at dinner parties also makes us unstoppable in our missions. The same voice that says, “Look at me!” also says, “I won’t quit, and I won’t be satisfied with anything less than greatness.”

Gift-Wrapped Criticism

As I sit here, I think about that email dive bomber. He gave me a gift wrapped in criticism. He forced me to ask: Would I rather be liked or leave a legacy? Would I rather be humble or helpful? Would I rather shrink myself to make others comfortable or expand to my full capacity and risk their discomfort? What if the great women and men of history had listened to their critics, taken the feedback to heart, and changed course for the worse?

The truth is, every person feels this tension. Every action contains both humility and audacity. Every creation is an act of ego — declaring that your vision matters enough to manifest it — and an act of service — offering benefit to the world.

Understanding True Greatness

I’m obsessed with understanding greatness. I believe God placed us on earth to be the best version of ourselves we can be. Sometimes it’s hard to reconcile that when someone is bombastic and full of themselves, they’ve earned it through the amazing things they’ve built against all odds.

Humility is a gift — the quiet reflection of knowing what you’ve done without having to broadcast it. But ego is a gift too. They coexist, two sides of the same coin. Humility can even get in the way of bold assertions, of standing in front of potential investors who need to see your vision burn bright enough to open their checkbooks. Selling people on vision takes guts and self-belief.

Bulls and China

People with vision are often misunderstood, often disliked by those who would rather their world remain undisturbed. Sometimes it’s the bull in the china shop that sees a clear vision of wrecking the status quo for a new future. It’s why some write emails or critical and nasty social media posts. But thank God — he gave us ego, and vision, and the ability to see if we can top our last effort.

What They’d Say

Here’s what the Bible says about this: “Let someone else praise you, and not your own mouth; an outsider, and not your own lips” (Proverbs 27:2). But it also says we’re made in God’s image — and didn’t He create the universe and then declare it “very good”?

And here’s what my therapist would probably say: “Eric, your ego isn’t the enemy — it’s the part of you that protected you when you were told at 40 you had no talent. It’s the part that refused to accept that limitation. The question isn’t whether to have an ego, but whether you’re driving it or it’s driving you.”

The Next Email

Somewhere, someone is deciding whether to send an email telling me this newsletter was too long, too personal, too much about me. They will find flaws in good intentions.

Thank you in advance for pointing it out. I’m ready. Bring it on.

Because maybe that’s the ultimate paradox: The same ego that makes me vulnerable to criticism is the one that lets me publish these words anyway.

Yes, Mr. Email, my ego is large. My intent isn’t to brag, I need to remain humble about my accomplishments, but I don’t want to be stopped from doing what I think needs to be done just to please those who feel I’ve gone too far. The key to remember is: It’s not about me, it’s about vision to help others and big ideas to make that happen. Sometimes I’ll screw up, and for those moments, I deserve correction.

Eric Rhoads

PS: Keep reading all the way to the bottom and you’ll discover three announcements of something spectacular and new.

Humbly, this year has been a magnificent whirlwind. Going to China, taking a group to Switzerland and Italy, a week of painting and meetings in Italy, a couple of new portrait sittings, countless events and speeches, and 18 million YouTube views later, I’m both exhausted and exhilarated. The next few weeks offer something precious: thinking time. No airports. No hotels. Just the quiet space to dream about what’s next. 

But before I disappear into my planning cave, let’s talk about the elephant in every artist’s studio…

The Gift They Actually Want (But Won’t Tell You)

Look, I love my family, but if I get one more Bob Ross bobblehead or apron “because you paint,” I might scream. Here’s what artists REALLY want but are too polite to ask for: They want to get better. They want to learn from masters. They want to be with and paint with their tribe.

That’s why I’m sharing my insider’s list of gifts that will make any artist in your life light up like a Sorolla painting at golden hour:

The Game-Changers (Under $200)

PaintTube.TV — Imagine Netflix, but instead of binge-watching shows, you’re learning from 100+ other masters. The world’s largest library of art instruction (100,000+ hours) — any medium, any subject, instantly streaming. A gift card is what I recommend for every artist friend so they can pick one of the 700+ training videos from top masters.

The Stocking Stuffers (Under $40)

PleinAir Magazine or Fine Art Connoisseur Magazine — Give them a year of inspiration delivered to their door. Every issue is like a masterclass in art or collecting they can hold in their hands.

Easel Brush Clip — The tool every painter needs but doesn’t know exists. Keeps brushes handy without the juggling act.

Value Specs — These magical glasses help artists see values correctly. Game-changer for anyone struggling with light and shadow.

The Life-Changing Experiences

Watercolor Live (January, Online) — Four days with the world’s top watercolorists, streaming from 20+ countries. An artist can attend in pajamas and replay forever.

Winter Escape Artists’ Retreat (February, Hilton Head) — While everyone else is shoveling snow, they’ll be painting on the beach in 75-degree weather. Limited to 100 artists who become instant friends.

NEW: Gouache Boot Camp (February 19, Online) — Gouache is having a moment. Perfect for the artist ready to try something new. An event focused on the fundamentals of working with gouache. 

Acrylic Live (March, Online) — Four days of acrylic mastery from artists who’ve redefined the medium.

Art Business Mastery Day (April 16, Online) — A day of coaching from the experts to make your art sell better.

The Plein Air Convention & Expo  (May, Ozarks) —The world’s largest plein air gathering. The main hotel is already sold out — we’re filling four more. This is their tribe, their people, their week of pure artistic joy.

Paint the Adirondacks (June) — My personal favorite. A week painting my beloved mountains with a small, passionate group.
Gouache Live (August 20, Online) — Since gouache is having a moment, we’re having two. This event will be focused on landscape painting with gouache.  

Plein Air Live (September, Online) — Three days of plein air and landscape instruction right in your studio!

Fall Color Week (October, Acadia National Park, Maine) — My other personal favorite. (Like my kids, I love them all.) A week painting in Acadia National Park and fall color.

Realism Live (November, Online) — Three days of demos from the top masters in realism art.

The fireplace in the living room crackles like small bones breaking, and the smell of burning cedar mingles with the steam rising from my mug of hot tea. Outside, the frigid cold arrived this past week to remind us winter is here — sudden, decisive, unapologetic. I’m bundled in blankets and fuzzy sweat pants.

My tea tastes particularly bitter this morning. Or maybe that’s just the aftertaste of an email I received last week. I know I shouldn’t let people get to me, but some things sting like winter wind through a cracked window.

The Surgical Strike

Sometimes life delivers pain when you least expect it. Earlier this week, between meetings and YouTube shows, an email struck with surgical precision: “Eric, your ego is out of control.”

I could have deleted it. Should have, maybe. Instead, I took the bait: “Thanks for the feedback, it usually is, but is there something specific you want to point out?”

To his credit, he didn’t retreat.

“You talk about yourself too much. You talk about how many houses you have too much, about all the portraits you have of yourself. You need to let the artists on your show shine and stop interrupting them.”

My response: “Thank you for pointing it out.”

And I meant it.

Mirrors and Angles

As hard as it is to see, sometimes we need someone to hold up a mirror at an unflattering angle. Because that is the funny thing about mirrors — different angles show different perspectives. Some might say my enthusiasm to know more is why I interrupt my daily YouTube show guests, acting as a representative of viewers who may not understand everything at the same level. If I can get the artist to explain something or go deeper, I’m going to step in and ask. Is that ego, or is that service? Is my interruption an act of narcissism or navigation?

Take those portraits he mentioned — thirty-plus paintings by the world’s greatest artists, many since deceased. Sure, commissioning that many portraits of yourself looks narcissistic from one angle. But tilt the mirror: I commissioned them to help keep portraiture alive, to give these masters meaningful exposure, to feature them in Fine Art Connoisseur and show the world that portrait painting from life still matters. It resulted in each of them selling dozens more portraits. Was it ego that drove me to sit for hours while these artists worked? Or was it patronage disguised as vanity?

The houses? I broadcast from different locations because that’s where life and business take me — it’s logistics, not showmanship. But I understand how it lands. Everything can be viewed through the lens of ego or the lens of purpose, and sometimes even I can’t tell which lens I’m looking through. But I’ll be more careful.

I don’t think I’m a narcissist, but I’ve battled my oversized ego my entire life. What I can’t decide is whether that’s a curse or a gift.

My Two Egos

There’s the ego that drives me forward — call it my engine — and the ego that needs applause — call it my needy child. The first confidently declares, “I can build something amazing.” The second insists, “Look how incredible MY contribution is.” One builds, one performs. Yet both spring from the same source, the same psyche, the same childhood insecurities transformed into adult ambitions.

Is it possible this flaw we call ego is also our superpower?

Domes and Blindness

I returned from Europe just a few weeks ago, and I can’t stop thinking about Brunelleschi’s massive dome atop the cathedral in Florence. He built it without scaffolding — a feat so remarkable that no one can figure out how he did it. And here’s the kicker: He refused to share his method, ensuring no one could build something as magnificent.

Was that selfish? Absolutely. Was it human? Undeniably. Was it necessary for greatness? That’s where things get interesting.

When Saint Basil’s Cathedral was completed in Moscow, legend says Ivan the Terrible had the architect Postnik Yakovlev blinded so he could never build anything more beautiful. That’s carrying ego way too far — when your need for supremacy literally destroys the eyes that created beauty.

The Builders’ Burden

I’ve never talked to a professional about this, but I wonder: If egos didn’t exist, would anything remarkable ever be built? Is it possible the world is shaped by egomaniacs who need to prove themselves, to show what they can do, to change the world in ways that outlive them?

I suspect the experts would say that the drive that ego creates is a positive thing, but that if you carry it too far, in a need for constant recognition, then maybe that’s a bad thing. Yet look upon the greats who have built great things over and over again, topping their prior achievements each time. If they are doing it for repeated recognition, isn’t that OK, because they are making massive contributions? Perhaps drive eventually transcends pure ego, motivation shifting from the need to prove oneself to having something valuable to contribute, with the ego providing fuel. It’s all beyond my pay grade.

Last summer in China — which was more amazing than I expected — I walked through cities so modern they made Manhattan look like an antique shop. Is this driven by collective Chinese ego, by the need to surpass other nations? Or is it simply the drive to be the best, regardless of recognition? And isn’t wanting to be the best just ego wearing a different mask?

Names We Remember

Would Apple exist without Steve Jobs’ legendary drive for revolutionary ideas? Would we have Facebook-Meta without Zuckerberg’s need to connect and control others? Would SpaceX launch without Elon Musk’s desire to be remembered as the man who made us multi-planetary? Would Dubai’s skyline pierce the clouds without someone’s desire to build the biggest and best? What about Gates, Firestone, Ford, Edison — people whose names we know precisely because their egos demanded we remember them?

Is there anything wrong with wanting to be the biggest and the best?

The Holy Paradox

Here’s what haunts me: I try to live biblically, to be humble, to give credit to my maker. Yet the same voice that calls me to humility also whispers: “Do bigger things, touch more lives, help more people.” But isn’t there some ego in believing you’re the one who should be doing the helping? Isn’t there pride in thinking your influence matters? What if we answered the whisper with, “No, let someone else do it”? Are we ignoring the will of our maker?

I’ll be the first to admit I’m proud of most of my career accomplishments. I’ve often coached people to write their obituary — not morbidly, but purposefully — listing what they want to have accomplished before they die, so they can make sure their list is complete before they stop. But if we can’t be proud of our accomplishments, why pursue them? Where do pride and humility meet? Can they coexist, or are they locked in eternal combat?

Harnessing the Monster

Maybe the answer isn’t to kill the ego but to harness it. Maybe it’s about recognizing that the same force that makes us insufferable at dinner parties also makes us unstoppable in our missions. The same voice that says, “Look at me!” also says, “I won’t quit, and I won’t be satisfied with anything less than greatness.”

Gift-Wrapped Criticism

As I sit here, I think about that email dive bomber. He gave me a gift wrapped in criticism. He forced me to ask: Would I rather be liked or leave a legacy? Would I rather be humble or helpful? Would I rather shrink myself to make others comfortable or expand to my full capacity and risk their discomfort? What if the great women and men of history had listened to their critics, taken the feedback to heart, and changed course for the worse?

The truth is, every person feels this tension. Every action contains both humility and audacity. Every creation is an act of ego — declaring that your vision matters enough to manifest it — and an act of service — offering benefit to the world.

Understanding True Greatness

I’m obsessed with understanding greatness. I believe God placed us on earth to be the best version of ourselves we can be. Sometimes it’s hard to reconcile that when someone is bombastic and full of themselves, they’ve earned it through the amazing things they’ve built against all odds.

Humility is a gift — the quiet reflection of knowing what you’ve done without having to broadcast it. But ego is a gift too. They coexist, two sides of the same coin. Humility can even get in the way of bold assertions, of standing in front of potential investors who need to see your vision burn bright enough to open their checkbooks. Selling people on vision takes guts and self-belief.

Bulls and China

People with vision are often misunderstood, often disliked by those who would rather their world remain undisturbed. Sometimes it’s the bull in the china shop that sees a clear vision of wrecking the status quo for a new future. It’s why some write emails or critical and nasty social media posts. But thank God — he gave us ego, and vision, and the ability to see if we can top our last effort.

What They’d Say

Here’s what the Bible says about this: “Let someone else praise you, and not your own mouth; an outsider, and not your own lips” (Proverbs 27:2). But it also says we’re made in God’s image — and didn’t He create the universe and then declare it “very good”?

And here’s what my therapist would probably say: “Eric, your ego isn’t the enemy — it’s the part of you that protected you when you were told at 40 you had no talent. It’s the part that refused to accept that limitation. The question isn’t whether to have an ego, but whether you’re driving it or it’s driving you.”

The Next Email

Somewhere, someone is deciding whether to send an email telling me this newsletter was too long, too personal, too much about me. They will find flaws in good intentions.

Thank you in advance for pointing it out. I’m ready. Bring it on.

Because maybe that’s the ultimate paradox: The same ego that makes me vulnerable to criticism is the one that lets me publish these words anyway.

Yes, Mr. Email, my ego is large. My intent isn’t to brag, I need to remain humble about my accomplishments, but I don’t want to be stopped from doing what I think needs to be done just to please those who feel I’ve gone too far. The key to remember is: It’s not about me, it’s about vision to help others and big ideas to make that happen. Sometimes I’ll screw up, and for those moments, I deserve correction.

Eric Rhoads

PS: Keep reading all the way to the bottom and you’ll discover three announcements of something spectacular and new.

Humbly, this year has been a magnificent whirlwind. Going to China, taking a group to Switzerland and Italy, a week of painting and meetings in Italy, a couple of new portrait sittings, countless events and speeches, and 18 million YouTube views later, I’m both exhausted and exhilarated. The next few weeks offer something precious: thinking time. No airports. No hotels. Just the quiet space to dream about what’s next. 

But before I disappear into my planning cave, let’s talk about the elephant in every artist’s studio…

The Gift They Actually Want (But Won’t Tell You)

Look, I love my family, but if I get one more Bob Ross bobblehead or apron “because you paint,” I might scream. Here’s what artists REALLY want but are too polite to ask for: They want to get better. They want to learn from masters. They want to be with and paint with their tribe.

That’s why I’m sharing my insider’s list of gifts that will make any artist in your life light up like a Sorolla painting at golden hour:

The Game-Changers (Under $200)

PaintTube.TV — Imagine Netflix, but instead of binge-watching shows, you’re learning from 100+ other masters. The world’s largest library of art instruction (100,000+ hours) — any medium, any subject, instantly streaming. A gift card is what I recommend for every artist friend so they can pick one of the 700+ training videos from top masters.

The Stocking Stuffers (Under $40)

PleinAir Magazine or Fine Art Connoisseur Magazine — Give them a year of inspiration delivered to their door. Every issue is like a masterclass in art or collecting they can hold in their hands.

Easel Brush Clip — The tool every painter needs but doesn’t know exists. Keeps brushes handy without the juggling act.

Value Specs — These magical glasses help artists see values correctly. Game-changer for anyone struggling with light and shadow.

The Life-Changing Experiences

Watercolor Live (January, Online) — Four days with the world’s top watercolorists, streaming from 20+ countries. An artist can attend in pajamas and replay forever.

Winter Escape Artists’ Retreat (February, Hilton Head) — While everyone else is shoveling snow, they’ll be painting on the beach in 75-degree weather. Limited to 100 artists who become instant friends.

NEW: Gouache Boot Camp (February 19, Online) — Gouache is having a moment. Perfect for the artist ready to try something new. An event focused on the fundamentals of working with gouache. 

Acrylic Live (March, Online) — Four days of acrylic mastery from artists who’ve redefined the medium.

Art Business Mastery Day (April 16, Online) — A day of coaching from the experts to make your art sell better.

The Plein Air Convention & Expo  (May, Ozarks) —The world’s largest plein air gathering. The main hotel is already sold out — we’re filling four more. This is their tribe, their people, their week of pure artistic joy.

Paint the Adirondacks (June) — My personal favorite. A week painting my beloved mountains with a small, passionate group.
Gouache Live (August 20, Online) — Since gouache is having a moment, we’re having two. This event will be focused on landscape painting with gouache.  

Plein Air Live (September, Online) — Three days of plein air and landscape instruction right in your studio!

Fall Color Week (October, Acadia National Park, Maine) — My other personal favorite. (Like my kids, I love them all.) A week painting in Acadia National Park and fall color.

Realism Live (November, Online) — Three days of demos from the top masters in realism art.