A tattered and worn sweatshirt that should have been thrown away years ago is warming me on this crisp morning. Though there are newer and nicer sweatshirts in the closet, there is extra cozy comfort in something old, worn, and tied to a memory. I can’t remember ever being so cold as I was that morning painting at Asilomar Beach in Monterey, California, where I bought the sweatshirt. It warmed me then as it does today.

Out on the porch this morning, it was simply too chilly, so I made my way to my little brown art studio in the woods behind my house. Decaying leaves and fallen acorns crunched under my feet as I walked through the yard, where I stopped briefly to look at the old swing my son Brady hung from a high oak branch. I flashed back to the joy on his face when he first built it and stood swinging for the first time.

A Yellow Glow

Brilliant, glowing yellow sunlight bleaches the wall and the wooden pillars holding up the old tin roof of the porch attached to my clapboard-covered studio. The red hammock next to the fireplace glows a reddish orange while it sways slightly in the breeze.

Entering my studio, I see the old 1930s Deco chair with rounded wooden arms and green and red fabric, where our models normally sit to be painted on Wednesday nights. My imaginary throne where I contemplate life and painting is about two feet off the floor.

Sounds of Silence

Silence fills the room, broken only by a “tock tock tock” that I rarely notice unless the room is this quiet. It’s an old quarter-sawn square clock, with a round face. Roman numerals share the face with the words “Standard Electric Time Company Springfield, Mass.” This old railroad station timekeeper has held up my wall for decades.

The Concept of Time

Back in the ’60s we used to ponder time, as though our young minds really understood anything about it. In that same era, a young man just four years older than me became a pop icon. And this past week on his deathbed, David Cassidy’s final words to his daughter Katie were “So much wasted time.”

The Most Profound Thing David Cassidy Said

In spite of his stardom, his recordings and concerts and fame, his last words may have been the most profound thing David Cassidy ever offered the world. We knew of him because we sang along to his songs, and it made us pay attention when we heard those succinct last words.

Far too many reminders of this temporary blip we call life have crossed my path in the past year, with too many good friends and acquaintances lost too soon. Though I never met this teen idol, he influenced the lives of millions of us when his songs became the soundtrack of our lives.

Not a Moment to Waste

In spite of the control I like to think I have by managing my mindset, my health, my diet and exercise, I’m reminded that all you and I have is this exact moment in time, and it must not be wasted.

The Cassidy quote hit me unusually hard. Rather than “I wasted so much time,” I want my final words to be, “I made valuable use of every remaining moment I was given.”

Cassidy’s daughter stated, “This will be a daily reminder for me to share my gratitude with those I love … as to never waste another minute.”

Burned by My Own Thoughts

Though none of us needs to be reminded that every moment is precious, I am reminded that I have burned far too many moments with worry, fear, anger, nervousness, wondering what others think, counting my mistakes, or absorbing negativity. Worse is spending time doing things I don’t love or things that don’t make others or myself better in some way.

Rarely do I regret a great story, movie, book, or conversation where I’ve learned something about someone else or myself.

The few regrets I do have are rooted in not listening, jumping to conclusions, reacting negatively, not approaching things with understanding or love, being critical, and just simply being selfish.

“Many of us crucify ourselves between two thieves — regret for the past and fear for the future” — Fulton Oursler

Looking back with regret is of little value unless it acts as prevention for the future. I’ve squandered too many opportunities because I was frozen by fear or self-esteem issues. “What if they don’t like me? What are they inviting me for? What do they really want? They are just saying that — they couldn’t possibly really want me.”

Self-Sabotage

One day I realized that those thoughts were simply getting in my way, killing opportunity. Though they still pop into my brain every day, I try to push them out right away and simply tell myself, “That’s not me speaking, it’s my subconscious mind and my reptilian brain instincts just trying to protect me.”

Our brains, our self-esteem issues, our lack of belief in our own abilities are the roadblocks to taking advantage of every moment.

I believe the key to shedding our emotional baggage is understanding that it’s there, that it is not protecting you, it’s harming you, and that if you don’t shed it, you won’t live as fruitful a life as you deserve.

Failure Fears

For some the act of letting something stop you from doing these things is a protection mechanism because they fear failure. So, what if you do fail? Fail forward. All successful people will tell you that failure is the foundation of success. Embrace it.

Yes, you deserve to have every moment be as meaningful, wonderful, and memorable as possible. I know there are reasons you may think you are undeserving or incapable.

But if those thoughts are not serving you, it’s time to find thoughts that do serve you.

• I waste too much time on Facebook, Instagram, and e-mail. I need to spend more time talking and listening with friends and family. 
• I waste too much time watching the evil news. I need to spend more time reading and growing. 
• I waste too much time being critical of others. I need to spend more time building them up. 
• I need to spend more time seeking memories with those I will miss when they are gone. 
• I need to remember that wounds heal and that I cannot let them control me, and accept that others are doing the best that they know to do. And even if their intent was to hurt me, I will not give them that power anymore. 
• I need to break down walls and barriers to make my dreams come true, so I don’t look back wishing I had at least tried. 
• I need to seize more moments. 
• I need to throw myself more into life. 
• I need to stop letting procrastination, excuses, and negativity rule me. 
• I need to assume today is my last and that every moment needs to be my best.

Don’t waste time. It’s your biggest treasure. Maybe this is a good week to evaluate what you’re letting keep you from making every moment the life you want to live.

I leave you with the lyrics of a top David Cassidy song.

Eric

I’m sleeping
And right in the middle of a good dream
Like all at once I wake up
From something that keeps knockin’ at my brain.
Before I go insane
I hold my pillow to my head
And spring up in my bed
Screaming out the words I dread:
“I think I love you!”

This morning
I woke up with this feeling
I didn’t know how to deal with
And so I just decided to myself
I’d hide it to myself and never talk about it
And didn’t I go and shout it
When you walked into my room.

“I think I love you!”
I think I love you.
So what am I so afraid of?
I’m afraid that I’m not sure of
A love there is no cure for.

I think I love you.
Isn’t that what life is made of?
Though it worries me to say
I’ve never felt this way.

I don’t know what I’m up against.
I don’t know what it’s all about.
I got so much to think about.

Hey, I think I love you,
So what am I so afraid of?
I’m afraid that I’m not sure of
A love there is no cure for.
I think I love you.
Isn’t that what life is made of?
Though it worries me to say
I’ve never felt this way.

Believe me,
You really don’t have to worry.
I only want to make you happy
And if you say,
“Hey, go away,” I will
But I think better still,
I’d better stay around and love you.

Do you think I have a case?
Let me ask you to your face:
Do you think you love me?
I think I love you.
Oh, I think I love you.
Oh, I think I love you.
Oh, I think I love you.
Oh, I think I love you.
Oh, I think I love you.
Oh, I think I love you.
Oh, I think I love you.

Composed by songwriter Tony Romeo in 1970.
I Think I Love You lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

Fog has kissed the long, winding driveway, wet from the dew. Yellow light saturates the giant oaks as the morning sun streaks across the low fog lingering atop the grass, making an eerie effect of yellow light hitting slightly lavender-colored fog. I’m wishing I had a camera about now because I know it won’t last long enough for me to run, get my easel, and set up to paint it. I’ll have to rely on my memory for another time. Mornings make for great paintings.

Normal Sunday mornings are quiet and filled with solitude, but this morning I sit on the front porch, having just said farewell to the last of the visiting family members who are getting an early start in hopes of beating the traffic on their long drive to a distant city.

A Big, Beaming Smile

Flashbacks of our time together bring a smile to my face … playing games around the table, sitting up late nights talking, laughter, meals together, and more laughter. And though it’s hard to see them go, knowing it may be another year before we connect, there is also a sense of relief that things will return to normal around home.

Earlier in the week I posted a challenge to friends on Facebook, suggesting they post six days of photos that represent things they are grateful for. I’m surprised at how many have done it, but most enlightening is how special it makes them feel.

Take a Turn Around

A wise mentor once told me that when you’re feeling a little down, a little like things are not going well, do an about face … turn around and look backward at where you are, compared to where you started. Suddenly things come into focus when you realize that our sometimes unsatisfied striving to do more is met with the realization that we’ve all done so much. Looking backward instead of forward is a great gratitude exercise.

Human nature, I suppose, is always wanting more, wanting to improve, to grow, to take things to the next level.

Not Good Enough

Take my art studio, for instance. It’s not good enough … or so I was thinking. After all, the dream is to one day have a tall room with giant north-facing windows and a space big enough to do 20-foot paintings, and room for more visiting painters on Wednesday nights when I paint figures. One day, I think, maybe I’ll have that ultimate studio.

Yet this week a visiting guest was telling me how wonderful my studio is and how fortunate I am to have it, and as I stopped and looked back, I realized they were right. Before moving here and converting an old pool cabana into a studio (the previous owners never built the pool), I thought back to the days when I had a small corner of the garage. I’d go out every night, winter or summer, and be either too hot or too cold, but I was grateful to have it. It was better than when I had no garage.

By the act of someone else pointing out how lucky I am, and by the act of looking in reverse, I came to the realization that I’m lucky to have what I have and that the ultimate studio isn’t necessary. Somehow this has made me feel so much more grateful.

Of course, this exercise isn’t about a studio, it’s about all things and all situations. By turning around and looking backward, I see there is so much to be grateful for. I highly recommend it.

Things Are So Much Better

I’m also grateful that when I look back, most of my circumstances have improved. I know that’s not true for all, which makes me even more grateful. And it drives me to want to help them find a way that they too can look back and see that their own circumstances have improved.

Mining for Gratitude

I’ve spoken about gratitude before. Life gets easier and is more pleasant when approached with the spirit of being grateful. Though I don’t always accomplish it, there is value in thinking about three things you’re grateful for each day before you fall asleep, and first thing when you awaken.

Since I started this process, I found I was less grumpy and stopped taking things, and people, for granted.

A Single Notification

I also, at the urging of a wise friend, started trying to find one great thing about someone I know and making a point of sending them a note to point it out to them. Not only does it make their day, it makes me feel better by making them feel better. Therefore I try to do this every day, and because of it, I start the day with the right tone … gratitude passed along.

The concept of Thanksgiving is truly a blessing. A little prayer, a little round robin around the table where people talk about what they are giving thanks for, can be powerful stuff. A chance to speak well of others, a chance to let them know how much we care, though it may not be said often enough.

I’ve realized that the gift of Thanksgiving is something I need to repeat more frequently, not just one time a year, not just on holidays.

On Friday after Thanksgiving we were all barraged with the pressure of buying gifts for others and the obligations of Christmas or Hanukkah. This will continue tomorrow on “Cyber Monday” and will be repeated constantly for the next four weeks. Yet the gift has already been given for many of us — the gift of being grateful for others and what they have done for us.

The Ghost of Thanksgiving Past

I think back to Thanksgivings past and pine for the people who once shared the table but who are no longer with us. Though I’m thankful for their too-brief time in my life, I know that one day my chair will sit empty, and it is my hope that people will one day look back on their times with me and regret that I’m no longer there.

I feel as though that won’t happen, though, unless I spend my life doing more for people and expecting nothing in return. What can I do to leave them happier, feeling better about themselves? What can I do to encourage others? What can I do to help them live their dreams? What can I do to share my gratitude for knowing them?

The secret to living is giving. It’s taken me decades of being self-centered and selfish to realize that self has nothing to do with a rich life.

How we each give is personal. And if we give to get something in return, it’s empty.

A Great Year in the Making

In the next few weeks I’ll go through my annual exercise of planning my year, setting my goals, evaluating this year and what I did well and where I failed. In that process I will set some lofty goals, but those goals are not all about financial progress. They will measure how well my team and I did in serving others. How many more homes can we build in the local rehabilitation center to help homeless people get on their feet? How many more meals can we serve? How many more people can we teach to paint, so they can find the soul of an artist? How many more can we encourage? How many can we train to market their art so they can accomplish their dreams? What can we invent, create, or get better at doing so we can amplify these efforts and touch more lives?

Though today marks the end of the Thanksgiving weekend, for me it marks the beginning of my month of planning before I enter a fresh start for a new year.

Doing More

I realize I’ve not done enough. I can do more, my team can do more, and I can be more giving, more encouraging, and find more things to be grateful for. I know I’m held to a high standard by my maker, not to earn anything, but to share what I’ve been given because I’m moved to do so.

I’d like to say that I give thanks to you because you’ve taken precious time that will never return in order to read this little note today.

I’d also like to encourage you to adopt the one thing that changed my life, which is living with a spirit of generosity and gratitude. Start by selecting ways you can remind yourself of the things you too can be grateful for. Sometimes we forget and get caught up in all of our wounds. Next, seek ways you can encourage others, and help them see how much they are appreciated. Then start focusing on what you can do for others and take baby steps every day, starting today.

You see, it all boils down to two words. Thanks and giving.

Have a great day … and relax. You deserve it.

The air is thick with moisture and the distant mountain in my view is a grayish purple. The silence of the morning is so still that I can hear subtle little sounds, like the baby bird chirping quietly in its nest in the rafters of the porch. I can hear things in the distance I would never normally hear.

The light is flat. Somewhere the sun is nestled warmly inside a giant cloud, keeping the light from escaping.

Treetops gently sway to the mild breeze, like ballerinas rehearsing graceful moves on their toes.

I hear cries echoing in the distance, breaking up the gentle sounds of the morning. Coyotes, perhaps?

A Screaming Child

My ears perk up, my defense instincts kick in, and the adrenaline rushes to my heart. I’m suddenly hyper-aware, realizing the cry is that of a little girl. Though I cannot make out her words, her screams are deafening in the silent morning.

Should I call for help? Should I put on my shoes and run out into the distant woods to come to her rescue?

Three screams of desperation, and I make out “Daddy, help me! Daddy, help me!” She is screaming desperately, with all her might.

Tears well up in my eyes, I feel helpless, trying to make out the direction of the screams, but not knowing if I can get there in time, and what will I face. Surely a child is not alone in the woods in this early morning, just after sunrise.

Then, in the distance, a male voice is heard. “I’m coming! I’m coming, honey. I’ll be right there.” Relieved, I know I no longer need to be the rescuer. The screams stop. The silence returns. The mystery will never be resolved.

As I sit here I realize the moment has rattled me in so many ways, as tears continue to stream down my face.

Memories Flood My Heart

Memories of my own children at young ages flood into my heart, of moments they needed their daddy to come to their rescue. Though with triplets, those days were hard, it was wonderful to be the hero, to be needed.

Today those hero-seekers aren’t crying out for Dad’s or Mom’s help anymore. Instead, in their teenage years, they tend to be annoyed with us, relying on us for sustenance and coin, but little else. Though I used to be the knight in shining armor, now I’m just “Oh, Dad.”

The Speed of Parenting

Time travel really is possible; I’ve lived it now for 15 years as I watched little seeds grow into saplings and then young trees — in what seems like a flash. Though others warned me, no words can really prepare a parent for the speed at which our children grow ready to jump from the nest, hopefully prepared to fly.

Driver training will soon lead to drivers’ licenses, the first true freedom, and the beginning of our separation. Truly we are caretakers for but a brief period.

The prospect of life without our munchkins at home in just three years is both frightening and exhilarating. Life as an at-home parent ends while a whole new empty-nester chapter of life unfolds. In our case, we’ll see all three jump the nest at one time. No chance to try it once, then another a couple of years later, and then another. It will be cold turkey.

Looking Forward to the Empty Nest

I feel guilty for looking forward to days when driving them to school at 6:30 for band practice is replaced by awakening to go paint or to get to work early, or maybe even sleeping in. Yet my heart already aches knowing my little entertainers won’t be around to brighten each day.

Friends who have experienced this transition tell me it’s the hardest, yet the best time, seeing kids go out on their own. But of course parenting never ends. Thank God for small favors.

An Unexpected Gift

Hearing that child cry out hit me in an unusual way this morning, a way I wouldn’t have expected, a way that rocked my heart and made me wish I were more needed by my offspring. My hope is that, as uncool as I am today, maybe there is some double reverse psychology, and their hormonal convictions of my uncoolness are really hidden signs that Dad is needed still.

The little girl’s cries remind me that we all need someone to run to, someone to rescue us, to be there in our moment of need. Though our hardened shell of adulthood often does not allow those cries to be heard, they are there, somewhere under layers of self-protection.

Friends who have lost their parents tell me they would give anything for one hour more. We all need someone to run to, to rescue us, to reassure us, to let us know that everything will be OK.

A Lifetime Commitment

A parent’s role never really ends. My calls to my aging parents, now in their 90s, are still reassurance, even though sometimes we have reversed roles and their cries for a knight in shining armor have turned to us. Parent becomes child, yet still remains parent.

It’s an amazing phenomenon that parents raise us and prepare us for life, and eventually we become their caregivers in turn. My parents prepared me for that role, and my hope is that I am a thoughtful enough parent that my kids will one day be willing to play the role for me, and hear my cries for help in the forest when I’m feeling frightened and alone.

I realized this morning that we all have moments when we’re crying out for help, wanting someone to rescue us, to be there for us, to save us.

Seeing Through Misbehavior

Though people act out and misbehave in ways that make us want nothing to do with them, perhaps we need to understand that sometimes they just don’t know how to ask for help. Their arrogance or nastiness or negativity may be a hidden code that’s saying, “Be there for me, help me, pay attention to me, understand me, save me.”

Cowardly Hit and Run

Recently I ran into a critical person on social media — someone who has never met me, never attended one of my events, never gotten to know me, but who slammed me, berated me, challenged me, and was as nasty as it gets because of my success and their perception that I’m “raping the land” because I’m an “opportunist.”

It hurt badly, not so much because I knew this originated with someone I knew who had betrayed me, but because someone made assumptions when they did not know my heart and my passion to help people grow, improve, and find the creativity inside themselves. They don’t know that my life changed when I discovered painting and that my passion is to help others find what I found. They just assumed I’m all about the money.

Too often these things lead to Facebook duels where anything can be spoken by people who would never have the courage to say something face-to-face.

What if we were to look at such behavior differently and ask ourselves, “Is it a cry for help? Is it a cry to be understood? Is this anger and vitriol present because someone just wants us to see their side of the argument?” Then perhaps we could lay down our swords, listen, and find peace between us.

We all just want to be heard.

Stop Solving

As a husband and a dad, it’s something I struggle with every day because I want to spout my own opinions before I’ve properly heard what’s being said. And, in typical male fashion, I want to solve the problems even when people don’t want solutions, they just want acknowledgement and someone to listen.

The little girl crying out in the woods lives inside each of us. The rescuing daddy also lies in each of us. All the roles we are given can be reversed. One minute we’re the crying child in need while another moment we’re the rescuing father or mother. It’s a complex world.

Training Future Behavior

Sometimes I fail to remember that the way I treat my children today will determine if they are there for me in the future. And the way I treat my parents is a model for how I’ve trained my kids to treat their parents.

It’s not an excuse to let bad behavior off the hook, but it is a reminder that we all need to be treated with respect. As my kids have grown from babies to toddlers to young adults, I’m reminded that they can handle more, and have to be treated differently in each phase. Like me, they want to be treated with respect and listened to. And it’s a reminder that the same is true in my time with my parents, who devoted their lives to making sure I turned out OK (it’s still too early to tell), and I need to be there for them more.

I’m reminded to see the other side. To listen for clues. To react less and to listen more.

Unknown Behavior

We are all crying out for help at times, even when we don’t know it. A therapist I met with once helped me understand that sometimes when I clam up, don’t talk, and don’t share my feelings, it’s because I fear I’ll be hurt, and I fear that others won’t listen.

Today that child’s cry for help, echoing in the woods, is cemented into my brain, as a reminder that my primary goal is to be there to rescue, not be rescued, and that if I give to others as I want to receive, I’ll bring joy to them and rescue myself.

Why Now, Why Me?

I find it odd that as I stepped out onto the porch this morning, wondering what I was going to write, God placed that child there with a cry for help at the very moment I walked outside. A moment that lasted less than 30 seconds, and has never occurred before, the entire time I’ve been living here. And I have no idea why it struck me, why tears welled up in my eyes, and why I drew the conclusions that were laid upon my heart. But I’m happy it happened, because I needed a reminder to be a knight in shining armor for everyone in my life.

Today, as you enter your day, you will encounter others. Some will be gentle and loving, others may be angry or annoyed. Some may be downright nasty. We cannot control how they act, we can only control how we react. We can RE-act by reflecting their actions, or we can RE-act by changing the tone and the dynamic.

Stop. Listen.

Perhaps today, and all week, if you too remember the crying child in need of rescue, you can ask yourself why someone is saying what they are saying. What do they really need? How can I react with love? How can I listen more? How can I be there as their knight in shining armor?

And I want you to know that I’m willing to listen. If you have a need, if you need someone to hear your voice and there is no one there who can do it, or who is listening, drop me a line. I will respond.

And thanks for listening and letting me be heard. It means a lot. It’s probably why I write these missives each Sunday. I just want to be heard.

The annoying buzzer in my iPhone startles me, and my eyes open to the patio door overlooking the seven-story-high view from the classic Biltmore Hotel in Miami. As I look out over a mist-covered golf course, the birds are singing happy tunes and the gray billowing clouds are decorated with glowing pink edges as the sun emerges from the ocean. Shadows of palm trees seem to extend six times their length across the manicured lawn.

Coffee from the little in-room machine awakens my brain as I sit observing the distant city, lights still aglow. As I think back over my week, a smile comes to my face. A very big, very hard-to-accomplish dream has come true. The feeling, and the impact of it all, make my eyes well up in gratitude. This was a long time coming, after years of discouragement and roadblocks. It all came from daydreaming, which, I was told, was a bad thing. I start thinking back to my fourth grade daydreaming experience. It wasn’t pretty.

School with Brown Bricks, Massive Chalkboards, and an Old Clock

Sitting at my little brown oak one-piece school desk, with 40 years of names carved on it, I looked up to find Mrs. Burkett staring down at me, hands on her hips. “That’s, it Rhoads,” she said, as she grabbed me by the ear and walked me all the way down the long, locker-lined hall to the principal’s office. “I’m tired of this daydreaming. You’ve got to pay more attention, and since you’re not willing, there will be consequences.”

Frankly, this was a trip I had made many times before, in every grade. My mind was elsewhere through most of school, and I’m sure the principal rolled his eyes when I was there again for daydreaming.

Knocking Knees in the Principal’s Office

I can remember sitting nervously in the chair outside his office, knees knocking, palms sweating. In those days, if we did something wrong we got whacked with a paddle. I’d had it many times before and honestly could not understand why daydreaming was a crime so bad that someone would bend me over for a WHACK!

Worse than a spanking was a call to my parents. Thankfully, they didn’t seem to mind my daydreaming. “It’s what I do at work. It’s how things happen,” said my dad. “I’m not too concerned. You’ll be fine even if you get poor grades in school. Don’t let them get you down. Daydreaming is a good thing.”

The Luck of Great Parents

Maybe they worried secretly behind the scenes, but I got nothing but encouragement as a child. I’m thankful I won the lottery and was born to loving, encouraging parents, and I’m thankful I got the daydreaming gene that helped my dad build his business into some life-changing products.

Daydreaming may have been met with punishment in fourth grade, but it placed me into a wonderful world of ideas and a life of “What if?” curiosity. I clearly did not fit the school mold, got horrible grades, did not go to college, and though I struggled for lots of years building out my ideas in business, it’s been a grand ride so far.

Daydreaming resulted in a lot of things that are hopefully making life better for those around me, especially my artist friends, who need encouragement, process, training, and tools to help them succeed.

One of those dreams came true this week.

As a dreamer, I have learned that the best dreams are the ones that come with the most discouragement. Whenever someone tells me something is impossible, it’s like putting jet fuel in my brain. It makes me want to prove them wrong.

A Special Place for Special People

I had this dream to create an event for figurative and portrait artists. My dream was not to try to imitate or replace the Portrait Society conference, a wonderful event. It was to create an event for museum-quality artists who felt they didn’t fit into the world of commissioned portraits. An event that helped them understand the differences in how they need to proceed with their careers, and a hands-on event where artists could practice on the spot what they had learned.

Everyone told me it couldn’t be done. Everyone told me my dream team of instructors could never be put together. Everyone told me there was no need for a second conference.

Fighting Doubt

Though doubts crept into my brain from time to time, I pushed them out and continued on the path. It was not easy; I got a lot of resistance. In fact, I got so much resistance I almost pulled the plug. But I didn’t.

Instead I moved forward, created FACE (the Figurative Art Convention & Expo) and brought in TRAC (The Representational Art Conference) in an effort to keep their good work alive after their own event had been shuttered.

My own team, in some cases, tried to discourage me from producing the FACE convention. “It’s too risky. If we fail, it could put the entire company out of business.” But they said the same thing when I launched the Plein Air Convention & Expo.

But frankly, that made me very nervous. My head was full of doubts. “What if they’re right? How will I feed my kids?”

Well, in spite of it all, yesterday we wrapped up the first FACE event, and I’m proud to say it was well attended and well received. (You can read all about it in Fine Art Connoisseur’s next issue.)

The most satisfying part was the gratitude of those in attendance, many of whom were not in a position to move to a big city and attend an atelier. They threw around words like “life-changing,” “historically important,” and “unlike anything else.”

I’m humbled.

A Redheaded Encounter

One young man — I can’t recall his name, but he had crazy red hair — came up to me to talk and asked, “Why you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why did you decide to do this convention? What made you do it?”

I hadn’t thought about that. I knew why I did it, but I had not stopped to think about why me.

I’ll tell you what I told him…

Sometimes ideas come to me that are so important, I know they need to be done. I look around and try to find out if anyone else is doing them, and if nobody is, I feel so driven by the need and importance of the idea that I have to go ahead. I figure that if I don’t do it, it may never get done at all.

Driven by Need and Passion

I told him that I was passionate about two kinds of painting, plein air landscape painting and figure/portrait painting, and that I felt the museum-quality artists — and those who want to be — were not being served, that there was a need for unity in our type of painting so we can build a bright future, and there was a need for a training event to train our brains in technique, tools, philosophy, and ways to see it all grow and blossom into something bigger.

Though I never stopped to think “Why me?” I kind of take the attitude of “Why not me?” If I’ve been blessed with the tools, or an idea or a vision, and if it needs to be done, why not me?

I say this with complete humility, and don’t want for a second to send the signal that I think I’m special or important. I just feel as though an idea was laid in my lap because it needed to be done.

Though I’m a little more established than I was when I started this wild journey, I’m not a wealthy man, and what money I make, I tend to put back into the business to do more cool things to help people grow as painters, as collectors, and as professionals or hobbyists. A conference like this put hundreds of thousands of dollars at risk, and if it failed, I’d be almost on the streets, painting full-time for a living and trying to pay off my debts and feed my family. It’s a little scary, which is why I was relieved when we sold enough seats to almost cover my costs.

Little Voices with Big Ideas

But when that little voice in my head sends me ideas, I feel as though I have to act on them, and it’s irresponsible to the cause not to act on them — even if it’s scary, even if I don’t have the money. I figure if something is truly worthy, I’ll find a way to do it.

With that, I ask you the same thing: Why not you?

Each of us has ideas, burning desires, and those dreams need to be acted on. You don’t want to wake up in old age wishing you had done something important.

I find that ideas come, probably several a day. If one idea keeps coming up and gains more and more importance in my mind, I’ll persist, run it up the flagpole with my team, and see how they react. Then I’ll do what I want anyway. Sometimes I listen to their wisdom, sometimes I change the direction of an idea based on their input, sometimes I put it aside till the timing is right. The problem is that some ideas have a time, and if they don’t get done in that time, they won’t serve their special purpose.

Listen, Can You Hear Your Heart?

I’d like to encourage you to listen to your ideas, listen to your heart, and follow your passion. Yes, it’s frightening. Yes, it’s hard. Yes, it may take months or years. Yet if you don’t follow your passion, you’ll always regret it. No matter what the obstacles, you will find a way to get around them because your passion to change the world in your way will drive you.

Conditions will never be perfect. People will always tell you why your ideas won’t work. Don’t wait. Go for it anyway. I’ve launched many ideas that people said wouldn’t work. Some failed, but some succeeded.

Fail Forward

If you fail at first, don’t give up. Keep finding a way. Keep failing. Just like painting, you have to do a lot of bad paintings before you can do good ones. Failure is growth. So if you’re asking yourself “What if I fail?” just know that if you don’t fail, you don’t grow.

I recommend you write down your ideas, pick the one that will help others and will change the world, and run with it. Don’t walk. RUN! Run through roadblocks. Run past negative people. Run to the goal, and if you do, lives will change and you will have made a difference in your own life.

Don’t think that doing life-changing things is for special people with special skills or talents. It’s not true. People who change the world in their little way are just people with passion that is so strong that it overcomes their fears.

I wish you well in your journey and ask you to consider today: What has been in my head and my heart that needs to be done? Then ask yourself, “Why not me?”

Shivering as I stepped out of my cozy bed this morning as the sun warmed my lids, I put on my warmest and oldest sweater, a cherished gift from my father at Christmas over 30 years ago. It’s a brown, hand-knitted sweater with a Native American pattern, and real antique buffalo nickels as buttons. It’s soft, it’s warm, it’s a little baggy now, and it’s one of the few things I’d grab if there was a fire, because it’s part of a family tradition. All the members of our family have two … one brown, one blue. These will become family heirlooms because they were knitted by an artist, Charles Atwood King, in Upstate New York.

Glowing Light

This morning’s light is glowing orange as it dances across the plants and grass in the backyard and lights up the side of my studio building. I’ve painted it many times, but never captured that Sorolla look of light. I’ll keep practicing, but this morning, staying warm is my priority. I’ve made my way over to the outdoor fireplace, something that makes these mornings even more special.

Sometimes it’s the little things that mean the most. Little family traditions, little things that warm our souls … like sweaters, fireplaces, old shoes, or the photo albums we’ve not fed since digital entered our lives. I’m sure one day, once the hard drives have crashed, kids sneaking into the attic to look at the chronicle of our lives won’t be the same. I must get around to making prints, but that is so 1980s.

Home, as you know, is my center. The sound of the old wooden screen door slamming behind me, the squeak in the bathroom door I should fix, but kind of like, and the marks on the doorjamb that show each child’s height over the years.

Homeward Bound

I returned home just yesterday. Wanting to be home, I got up in New York at 3 a.m. after getting in bed at midnight, took a car to the New York airport for a 7 a.m. flight, and was home by 10. The kids were still in bed, so I was there to cook breakfast and start their day. I’ll do the same today, then board a flight out to Miami to prepare for ourFigurative Art Convention & Expo.

My 24-hour trip to New York was a complete luxury and a trip I didn’t need to make, a trip whose expense was not necessary — but there was something so special that I wanted to be a part of it, because history is so important in art.

We Are Old Photos to Come

I love old photos of artists from the 1940s (or 1840s), and I love to look back upon traditions, which is why I wanted to be at the event on Friday night celebrating the Salmagundi Club’s 100th anniversary in its Fifth Avenue location. I also knew it would be an opportunity to see all my friends and meet people I’ve always wanted to meet. It was a grand event, and you’ll read about in Fine Art Connoisseur and Fine Art Today.

Can You Say Sleepy?

My first visit to the Salmagundi Club was disturbing. I was the guest of a member, and we ate in the downstairs dining room. The walls were covered with historical paintings by members — the history as rich as it gets for a painter. Yet everyone I saw in the club seemed to be over 70.

As I looked into it, I found the membership was on the decline, and there were few activities to draw younger artists. It was my prediction that this wonderful club would die off with its remaining members.

A year later, in the same dining room, I visited with a man who had just joined the club’s board and had the same feelings about its future. He managed to step in, get beyond the politics and deep resistance to change, and slowly rebuild the club.

New Oxygen in an Old Place

Today, about 10 years later, the club has returned to its former vibrant prominence and become a venue for important art shows and activities. It was the vision of Tim Newton and his board, and key members like Roger Rossi, that brought the club back to life. Had this not happened, I’m not sure the club would have ever made it to 100 years on Fifth.

The California Art Club was going through the same thing. Great heritage, but dying a slow death. But it was saved and revitalized over 20-plus years by Elaine and Peter Adams.

Ties to a Tattered Past

My visit to the club on Friday got me thinking about the importance of being a part of something old, something with roots in the past, something that held on to deep tradition. As an artist and publisher, I want to be a part of something that artists cherished 100 years ago. I love walking through the library knowing the great artists of the past were in that room, smoking cigars and telling stories about paintings. Those same artists’ paintings fill museums today.

There is something magical about being a part of these kinds of traditions. Maybe it’s knowing that perhaps artists in the future will look back at the old pictures of us at the 100-year event, wishing they could have been alive to meet the iconic artists of our time.

Icons of the Future

We often don’t think about or realize that artists like Joe McGurl, Don Demers, John Stobart, C.W. Mundy, Quang Ho, and others, too many to mention, will be hanging in major museums (some already are) and will be the icons people look back upon and wish they could have known.

This is what drives me to do so many art instruction DVDs with interviews … it’s recording history and technique, because I wish I had video of Sargent. It’s for that reason our library of over 200 videoscontinues to sell, even videos shot almost 30 years ago. These are historic documents.

I’ve realized that linking to history is important to us all, and that each of us needs to find a way to create traditions. Someone, probably a group of a few artists over dinner or drinks, started the California Art Club and the Salmagundi Club. What can you and I start? What traditions can we be a part of?

Give some thought to traditions you are a part of and the gifts they provide, and perhaps something you can do to start traditions or fix something in need of new life.

Half-awake and walking out of my room to brew my coffee, I suddenly jumped at the sight of a frightening mask among the Halloween costumes flung over the back of the family room chairs. The kids, who attended a school party last night, need to tidy up a bit once they awaken. I think I jumped into the next room.

Days are getting shorter, mornings are dark longer, and it’s pitch black outside. The stars are still visible as I quietly make my way to the porch, trying not to awaken my wife in the room next door. The smell of coffee is filling my lungs as the glow on the horizon begins, and it soon brightens the trees with an orange light as morning officially arrives.

Signs of Halloween

Crisp air, and the scent of fall — I’m in the mood for some fresh apple cider. I’ve already started dipping into the Halloween candy (yum!). And last Sunday we made our way out to a local farm that has lots of Halloween activities — face painting, pumpkin carving, corn maze, and so on. It’s funny, the kids are teens and like to act grown up, yet they still love going there.

Football in Texas. Amen!

It’s football weather. Football in Texas is almost a religion, and since our triplets are in the marching band, we’ve been spending our Friday nights at the games to support our kids and their school. Though I’ve never been sports-minded, I have to admit I’m catching the disease. We’re pretty energized because our team is going to the playoffs, and on the way we beat a team no one has beaten in 11 years. Yay, team!

Our stadium was used in the filming of the TV show Friday Night Lights. It’s the first high school stadium I’ve seen with a jumbotron. I have to admit, it’s pretty cool, but a lot different from the rickety, rotting wooden bleachers at Homestead High School in Indiana, where I graduated.

Happy at Home

I’m grateful to be here. Though I love my travels and my responsibilities have taken me to some very interesting places lately, as Dorothy said when she clicked her ruby slippers, there really is no place like home. Yet soon, I’ll head out for a marketing class I’m taking in Orlando because I want to keep my ax sharpened.

In November I’ve got our new Figurative Art Convention & Expo (FACE) in Miami, which I’m really excited about. My two passions are plein air painting and figure/portrait painting. We’ve managed to put people together on stage who are unlikely to ever be together again.

Exciting and New

After the Miami FACE event I head straight to our Radio Forecast conference at the Harvard Club in New York, which is put on by my radio magazine (which is celebrating 25 years at the event). Then I’m off to the world famous Salmagundi Club for an event celebrating the 100th anniversary of its Fifth Avenue location.

That ends my travel for the year. Then I get to stay home with the kids for a week while mama travels to a conference. I’m sure it will be bubblegum, pizza, and cupcakes every night! (I know she reads this, and she’s always concerned about how I feed the kids.) (Smile.)

The year will wrap up with a couple more video shoots in our studios here in Austin. Then I get to stabilize for the balance of the year before the insane travel begins again.

Sometimes when I have a lot of events back to back, I don’t have time to stop and think about them until things settle down. I’m still processing the annual Radio Show convention, plus an event I held at the Wizard Academy, then the Fine Art Connoisseur art tour to Russia, my time painting in Russia, and my Fall Color Week artists’ retreat in Maine, which all came one right after the other. Thank goodness for my iPhone camera so I can remember where I was last week!

Eavesdropping

Recently at Fall Color Week I was painting next to Barbara Tapp, an amazing watercolor painter from Berkeley, California (where our kids were born). While we were standing there, she struck up a conversation with a couple visiting the area, heard about how the man had grown up nearby, had been gone for most of his life, and finally came back for a visit. The place, Schoodic Point, was just as he had remembered it.

I’m listening to the conversation when Barbara says to the couple, “My painting will be done in about half an hour. If you’ll come back then, I’d like to give it to you. Would you like to have it?”

The couple was deeply touched. “You would do that for us?” Barbara explained that because they had such a deep connection with the area, the painting would be a nice reminder of their old home, and it would be a pleasure to give it away.

She finished the painting, signed it, put it in a nice matte, and gave it to them when they returned. Though they offered to pay her for it, she insisted that it would be her gift to them and that their joy was payment enough.

The Story of Giveaways

Later that evening, during announcements, I asked Barbara to come up and tell the story, and I learned that her goal is to help the world by giving one painting away each day. She has already given away dozens and had stories of others during Fall Color Week in Maine.

Each story was touching.

Well, the next day, this trend had caught on. Rick Wilson and I painted, with permission, on a farm with an amazing view, and the owner was very engaged with what we were doing. But she mentioned that people often stop, walk on her property without her permission to take pictures, and some set up and paint without permission. She was thrilled that we had asked. So Rick said, “When this painting is finished, I’d like you to have it so you know not all artists are going to walk on to your property without permission.” She was so excited that I ended up giving her my painting, too.

Though neither of us liked the idea of giving away a painting we wanted to keep, we both felt very special about making an old woman’s day. We both went back a few days later to do another painting from the same spot, and she already had Rick’s painting framed and proudly took us in to show it hanging in her house (mine was still wet).

Others in the group also brought in stories about giving away paintings. Everyone felt great about their generosity.

Hmm. Maybe We Can Use This to Our Advantage…

The marketing guy in me suggested a couple of lines to use when giving a painting away, so that value is established. I suggested one way to do it is to say, “I’d like you to have this. I normally sell them for $2,500 in my gallery. I want you to have it because I believe every home should have original artwork, and because (your reason here).” Then you reinforce that all paintings are not free or cheap, and that original artwork is a good thing.

Before we knew it, everyone was giving away paintings and had stories about special connections with people. Barbara reports that she hears from most people she’s given paintings, and she’s enriched her life with new friends, visits from people she has met, and a feeling that she is doing something special to help others through her art.

Barbara Tapp may have started a trend.

A Spirit of Generosity

What if we all tried this? What if we all lived with a spirit of generosity? What impact would we have on the world? And how would it affect people getting excited about owning more original art?

Though a giveaway doesn’t have to be every day, what if when you’re out, you do a small piece, knowing that you may encounter someone who needs to have their day lifted, or to have a special memory?

Everything in life cannot be about selling. If you do artwork, photography, something else … why not try it?

My dad, an accomplished photographer, takes a large matted photo with him to every dinner party, every doctor visit, every special event. It enriches his experience with others and makes them feel special.

Giving Creates Gifts to Yourself

Though some will be critical and think giving things away will hurt their sales, nothing could be further from the truth. Giving always results in other benefits more valuable than a sale. Barbara reports some recipients have actually gone to her website to buy something, though that is not her intent.

Is Generosity in Your Future?

What can you do to live generously today? It may not be about a painting, or even a physical gift at all. It may be about listening or helping or just reaching out to someone who needs an ear.

One generous person I got to know on our first Cuba trip is artist Nancie King Mertz, who stayed in the World Famous Artists’ Cabin this week at our house to film a couple of amazing pastel art instruction videos. We were thrilled to get to know her better and experience her generosity.

It’s my wish that generosity will impact your day today. And be overly generous with the candy this Halloween 🙂

Dark-bottomed clouds fill the sky, ready to spill out overhead at any moment. How the wind moves clouds at such high speed is a mystery, with the weight of a water tower inside each cloud as they move gracefully across the sky like carefree dancing ballerinas.

My massive backyard oaks are bending to the will of the wind, which just flipped up the carpet under my little covered-porch sitting area, perhaps to nudge me inside before the looming storm. Though I think I’ll stay a little longer to hear the BBs of rain hitting the tin roof overhead. Somehow the racket is comforting.

The chill in the humid air is a reminder that winter approaches and my quiet back-porch mornings may soon require cozy sweaters, jackets, or even lighting the outdoor fireplace to provide warmth and the soothing smell of burning embers.

The rope swing hanging from a winding oak branch is quietly moving on its own, as if an invisible child is swinging in the wind. The neighbors’ horses playfully whinny in delight that the hot Texas sunshine is no longer beating down on their backs.

The neighbors’ cattle — three adults and one baby — are pressed against the fence, curious about my presence and greeting me with a good moo-ning.

A Less-Than-Tidy Mess

Across the yard about 50 feet, my little studio building sits, awaiting a visit from me to tidy up after an extensive video shoot on Thursday.

The shoot was for a project I’m passionate about, a new product, not yet revealed, that will help me meet my personal goal of teaching a million people to paint. It’s rooted in my own bad experience and self-esteem issues.

A Lucky Break

When I turned 40, Mrs. Rhoads bought me a painting lesson, my first, which went badly when the instructor, Sam somebody, told me, “Just express yourself. Throw the paint on to the canvas.” Perhaps you’ve heard the story.

“But this isn’t how I want to express myself. I want to learn how to paint things that are real … like a still life or flowers or people.”

“That’s old school. No one does that anymore.”

I shrank, left the class with my one colorful masterpiece (not), discouraged and feeling as though there was no hope for my learning.

I had picked up materials at a store, tried to paint, but could not translate what was in my head to a canvas. I had a globby mess. So, after the art class experience, the materials went into a box relegated to the basement. So much for painting.

Taxi!! Taxi!!!

A year later, stuck in a long taxi ride, I chatted with the driver, who was an artist. After hearing my story, he told me about a man who had studied in the lineage of the great masters through contemporary masters in Florence and America.

Once I got up the courage to show up at his class, which was about copying Old Masters, I sheepishly walked in, and I saw the amazing paintings being done in the class — which should have encouraged me. Instead the voices in my head took control, as they often do.

“You can’t do this. No way can you ever get that good. Talent is required, and you have no talent. You can’t even draw a stick figure.”

So I did an about-face and headed out of the room.

An Art Savior

“Yoohoo — can I help you?” said a voice in the distance.

“Oh, well, um, I heard this was a class I should attend, but, well, um, I can’t possibly do this. So I was just leaving.”

After introducing himself, Jack Jackson told me he could teach anyone to paint, no special gifts required.

“Step over here, let me show you something.”

He immediately engaged me in a simple project, where I could see instant progress. Two hours later, he had me working on my first painting.

I’m so thankful he stopped me at the door, because had he not, I probably never would have started painting. His influence brought me my art life today, which has resulted in three art magazines, my work in a few galleries, a couple of art conferences and newsletters, and an art video instruction effort.

Yes, one man, in one minute, saved and changed my life.

Amplify Painting

Therefore my goal is to amplify what he did for me. I want people to learn to paint, and do it well.

I want to catch them, encourage them, and give them tools for instant success so they can begin their lives as painters and experience the benefits. I want them to know they don’t require special talent, and that if they follow a simple process, they can learn to paint.

Critics will say, “Eric, painting isn’t easy. You can’t oversimplify painting.”

Feeling Pride and Progress Fast

How many people drop out of piano class, discouraged with no progress and the boredom of learning scales? Good teachers understand that baby steps, a feel of progress, and the ability to play a simple song is what keeps students coming back.

My friend Calla showed up at Jack’s art class too, but got discouraged because her head told her she couldn’t do it. She dropped out and missed a lifetime of painting.

That should never happen to anyone.

Art Instruction Reinvented

So I’ve developed a new system to make it easy. Though it’s rooted in a process many painters understand, most don’t use it.

I’ve found a way to simplify, a way to help make fast progress, a way to take baby steps. A way to give encouragement to keep aspiring artists interested. And I’ll be offering it up for free, because I want to eliminate barriers.

What is it?

It’s a little soon to say — nor do I want to ever use my Coffee blog for commercial purposes. But it will be revealed soon, tested, modified, and exposed, and I’m sure you’ll hear about it. In fact, I’m introducing it on a worldwide TV broadcast, a show that has well over a million viewers in 11 countries.

Teaching a Million to Paint!

My hope is that I’ll make my first step toward teaching a million people to paint. And if it works, we’ll keep pressing on.

Many of you are already there … you already know how to do it, you already teach. Therefore I’d like your help.

Do You Hear the Clues?

Simply said, listen for clues like “I wish I could do that, but I don’t have any talent. I can’t draw a stick figure.” When you hear that, engage them, help them, teach them, because if you do, you will change their life. And you may be the only chance they ever get, so you’ve got to jump on it fast, encourage them, and follow up.

I Need Your Help

I’d like you to be part of the team trying to teach a million people to paint … then help them progress to a life of continual growth as painters. You see, I don’t need pride of ownership. It does not need to come from me, through my system. It just needs to happen.

Sanity for a Crazy World

You may not have noticed, but our world is pretty crazy at the moment. What impact would we have if 1 million more people started to paint? I think it would be huge. And once we get to 1 million, we can set bigger goals. But let’s start with one person at a time.

What Can You Do This Week?

Share your gifts that you think others will cherish. And if you’re already drawing and painting, help those you encounter take a step to discover it for themselves. If you’re not drawing or painting and would like to … raise your hand and I’ll connect you with someone to guide you.

Set up in a public place. See how many people say those magic words and listen for clues of interest, then say, “Let me show you. Talent isn’t required. It’s just a process, like cooking or typing. Here, take my brush.”

Though I may never know how many we collectively touch, even one more person who finds painting will be a step in the right direction.

Enjoy your Sunday! Me, I’m gonna go find someone to teach.

Vibrant red-orange light was about ready to peek over the Atlantic Ocean. Giant granite rocks and rows of majestic pines were silhouetted against the golden sunrise while the upper part of the sky was a deep indigo blue with a single star glowing in the distance.

A gentle mist dampened the grass on this almost-freezing morning, and I was rubbing my hands together to keep them warm. Overhead a bald eagle spread her massive wings and squeaked as if to let me know I was in her space.

My headlamp was glowing on my easel in the pre-sunrise darkness as I hurriedly laid in my shapes with paint, knowing I’ll have little more than three minutes to capture the rapidly moving colors of sunrise.

This morning I’m back in Texas, looking out over my backyard’s own beautiful light, but remembering that just two mornings ago, I was up at 5 a.m. to experience the sunrise on Schoodic Point in Acadia National Park.

Lingering memories are going through my head as I return to reality from my little artists’ retreat where about 60 of us gathered to paint for a week that passed far too quickly.

Memories of lobster, caught that morning by a local fisherman, on our last night together. Memories of a room filled with probably 700 paintings we produced during our week. Memories of endless laughter, silly jokes, dancing and singing to nightly music, and painting portraits on several nights.

Up early each day, we had breakfast together, then set out hopeful of finding a masterpiece or two. Some produced as many as four or five paintings a day, others just one or two, each representing an amazing spot and a memory of that time painting with new and old friends.

Last Sunday I awoke in that place; I had already done a touch of painting and begun developing the friendships that deepened over the week.

A show of upraised hands filled the room when I asked on Friday, our closing morning, how many had developed new and deep friendships that could last a lifetime, though most of these people had never before met.

Of course, there were also many returning “regulars” who connected with friends established in the last two years of Fall Color Week. But everyone, including myself, made new friends.

It was a feeling of mixed blessing. A week of painting was enough, and the anticipation of returning to my family was a joy. Yet sadness filled my heart and those of people around me, thinking of this special week of special moments.

Goodbyes were tearful. Hugs were heartfelt. Some didn’t want to let go, and one woman started crying on my shoulder, knowing she had escaped a difficult time in her life and a looming divorce, and grateful for a chance to occupy her mind with painting and chats with friends for a week away.

Another said, with tear-filled eyes, that last year she had gone home to an ill husband and this year would be returning to an empty house. Still others were just sad to leave those who had been their roommates and friends during this week of escape from their busy lives.

Gushing thank yous pump up my ego, but make me feel that for most, this little break from reality was the medicine they needed. I feel grateful to be placed in a position where I can provide such a gift to others.

It’s a special moment in time, and one that won’t last forever. Though there will be future events (God willing), each one is special, each unique, each serving a purpose.

So many coincidences occurred, it’s as though they were meant to be. One artist told a story of a painting mistakenly sold twice by her gallery and never delivered to the first buyer, whose name she never knew. The artist and original buyer, comparing notes, found one another at this event, though they live far apart.

Others found connections in common interests, and in one case, two people turned out to be distant relatives. All brought together “by accident” at a random event for painters.

Last week I talked about rewarding yourself by getting away. This week, I feel a sense of deep meaning because so many people had what they said was the experience of a lifetime. That encourages me to make sure I’m doing all I can for these folks, my cherished readers and friends.

I want to do more, invent more ideas, put people together in new ways, because it’s important work. Sometimes I feel I can’t do enough, fast enough. Yet it needs to be done. There truly is so little time.

Nothing in my career has given me more gratification, more satisfaction, more joy, than bringing artists together and giving them these experiences of a lifetime. It’s a reminder that we all need things like this, and we all have special gifts that need to be shared.

To those who spent the week with me in Maine, my heart aches missing each of you, yet I have a beaming smile on my face as I replay moments from the week.

To those not there: Find something, anything, where you can give to others. I learned this week that there are a lot of hearts in need of someone to step in on their behalf, and we can each play that role.

Enjoy your week.

Silhouettes of pine trees glow against the deep indigo sky with a waning gibbous moon illuminating the scene. Hints of red are streaking across the nearby ocean as the glow of sunrise is about to blast its color into the atmosphere. Sounds of seagulls whining, waves crashing, and a foghorn seem unusually loud on this quiet Maine morning on Schoodic Point, the lesser-known and more spectacular branch of Acadia National Park.

Rockefeller’s Place

A giant Tudor home with exposed beams, built by John D. Rockefeller, Jr., is my home for the coming week. Though new on the inside, with modern conveniences, the exterior looks as it did when Rockefeller donated the building to the park he loved so much. Here with me in the surrounding rooms and apartments in this former military base are a group of passionate painters.

Sharing our love of painting and the desire to fill our canvases with bright fall colors, waves crashing against the rocks, lobster boats, lighthouses, and quaint fishing villages, we gathered here on Friday night, in time for a full moon and some nocturne painting after cocktails. The air is crisp and cool, the sky is clear, and the weather is expected to be perfect.

Happily on My Own

I’m not sure if it’s the pride of doing something entirely on my own in the midst of my busy life, but this event, which I call Fall Color Week, is my own. It’s just me. No helpers, no staff, no photographers or videographers. Though I love their company, I also love knowing that two times a year I do my own painters’ event for 50 or 100 people with no help. Oh, everyone steps in, but if they didn’t, it would still go smoothly.

This event has become one of my favorites. Each event has its own flair, its own culture, its own regulars. Some attend more than one event, and some prefer the exotic trips to Cuba, New Zealand, or Africa. But at this event, I’m in the exact same boat as my attending friends. In the Adirondacks, I sleep in my own bed every night and am able to kiss the wife and kids goodnight. Here, Facetime or e-mail are my only options.

Rarely Alone

When we held our first event here, I had the realization that I’m rarely alone. I can’t remember a night alone in my own home. Usually, I’m the one leaving. And though I’m with friends all day here, as we have breakfast and dinner together and we paint together all day, after we finish our evenings of portraits or music or jokes, I return to my room and I experience being alone with my thoughts.

Those who follow this Coffee thing know that silence and quiet are worth getting up for before everyone else arises. Even here, though I’ll be walking out to host breakfast in the next hour or so, I awaken early, with the dark outside, the spooky and soothing silence.

Oh, how I cherish my time at home, my family, my busy life, my insane business life, my columns, articles, marketing videos, magazines, and so much more … but they take their toll, and having this respite, before and after our days here, is special time too.

Hard to Leave, Great to Be Here

I have to admit, though I was looking forward to coming here, to being with old and new friends and painting every day, I had a hard time getting on that airplane and saying goodbye to my family after so much time away in my busy season. Last week it was Russia, and I’m probably just getting over the lag. Yet now that I’m here, I can say with enthusiasm that there is nothing like painting all day every day, seeing new and different scenery, painting alongside others, and developing new friendships. It doesn’t take long to bond.

Benefits are like a horn of plenty. After just two days, I’m tuned up and painting well, and by the end of the week, after two or three canvases a day, I’ll return with a fresh catch for my gallery, and I’ll be painting at my best. It’s the inspiration of the place, the people, the color. It’s also the break … time away, time to myself, time with friends, time singing at night and playing music.

Absolute Magic

As much as I write, I cannot capture in words the magic that happens here during this week. It’s one of those “you have to be there” moments. And it’s different each year, with new stories. Much like the movie Same Time Next Year, where a couple meets for dinner and catches up about their year … every year. I am blessed to hear about kids, families, adventures, and of course painting. I feel blessed, and I wish you could have been here to experience it.

Well, coffee awaits, I have to walk to the lodge to get mine. Everyone will be gathered for breakfast. I’ll make some announcements, some folks will have some ideas or painting tips to share, I’ll tell everyone where we’re painting today … and then there will be about 60 of us lined up painting together — aside from some who may go off to their own secret spots.

Treat Yourself

Time for yourself is critical. I’ve said it before … put on your own mask before helping those around you. You need oxygen. We all do. Find a way. Even a quiet corner and getting up an hour before everyone else can be a gift to yourself.

If you happen to be in the area today and you see a row of painters with big smiles on their faces … beep the horn and say hello!

SLAMMMMMM!!!!

As I opened the door, I was greeted by the nasty smell of black mold in the air, a smell so thick my eyes instantly started to water and I wanted to put my handkerchief over my nose.

I flicked on the light, and the single fluorescent bulb dangling from a cord began to buzz loudly — and my suspicions of mold were confirmed visually. The once-white walls were black with mold, the paint peeling, and the plaster crumbling from moisture.

An old Soviet-era refrigerator stood guard at the front of the huge room, doors wide open, and the smell of Freon and decades of food gone bad mixed with the smell of mold.

At the back of the room, there was a stained old iron sink, equal to the ones I’ve seen at the worst gas stations, with flies swarming around its leaking water supply.

A door by the sink leads to the restroom. As I step in, the rotting floor gives slightly under my weight and I see the 1970s yellow floral linoleum is water-damaged and peeling.

Formerly beautiful green ceramic tiles barely hang on to the walls of the shower. Many have already fallen and the rest are sticking out, making the walls uneven.

The throne room, well, let’s just say it was beyond disgusting.

The place I’ve just entered is an art studio, with 20-foot ceilings, 20-foot-long walls, a once-trendy 1970s-era vinyl floor, and a row of giant, 10-foot-tall north-facing windows.

The Home of Great Artists

This studio and 26 others like it have been the temporary homes of some of the world’s great master artists, and they are where some of Russia’s most important museum masterpieces have been painted.

“Welcome to your home,” says my host. “We have given you our best.” This is to be my home for the next three nights, but he says, “If not good enough, we can get room in local hotel for you.”

I’m feeling instantly conflicted.

I know these people have made an effort to get me into one of these coveted studio spaces.

I know this is a special place where great paintings have been done and great artists have lived.

I know my host put out his own hard-earned money to have me there.

I don’t want to be ungrateful, and though I love the idea and romance of staying in one of these old studios, I also know doing so will test my limits. But because mama taught me to be kind, no matter what, I say…

“This is wonderful. I’m honored to stay here. Thank you.”

Busted in a Lie?

Have you ever had one of those moments when you knew you were lying through your teeth because you didn’t want to offend someone?

Though I wanted the experience of being there, I could not fathom the idea of breathing that moldy air for three nights.

Keep in mind that I had just been on a luxury trip (our Fine Art Connoisseur Fine Art Trip to Russia), spending 10 days in the finest hotels in Moscow and St. Petersburg.

Stark Contrast

The contrast between the luxury hotels and this studio was massive … the hotels had heated marble floors, thick robes, and beds to sink into that surrounded you like a giant cuddle … versus having to have your shoes on at every moment so your feet don’t touch the floor, waiting 20 minutes for the hot water in the shower, and sleeping on a sagging Soviet era-military cot that wasn’t long enough to stretch out in, with a thin lumpy mattress and hard springs. Plus long nights shivering because of the thin blanket, and needing to tuck my water glass into a ziplock bag so the bugs don’t land on it, and putting my clothes in a plastic bag to keep them from the mold.

This was a mindset moment.

This was a time when I had to rapidly shift my thinking … was I going to be a spoiled American and allow this to ruin my experience?

During that first miserable night of tossing and turning and shivering and waking to the feeling of mold in my lungs and the smell of cigarette smoke and turpentine from the neighboring studio, I convinced myself that I needed to move to a local hotel.

But daylight has a way of changing our perspective.

Once I got through the somewhat difficult task of getting the shower to work, then got dressed and ready in the freezing, unheated room, I could see the light streaming through the giant windows, filling the studio with amazing light.

This Is Truly an Amazing Place

As I walked outside, my first view was of a painter in the distance using a Russian easel, set up next to a quaint old wooden cabin and painting the distant poplar trees, in full fall colors, by the lake.

I quickly forgot my troubles and realized I was in plein air heaven.

“Oh, you speak English?” said a man who was painting as I walked out the door into the warm morning sunlight. “Sergi is my name. I was ship’s captain in America. Now I’m painter.”

My New Friend Sergi

Sergi was from the East of Russia, so far away it took him and his friends longer to get to this place than it took me from America. He quickly introduced me to his friends, all painters. Then he took me into their studio to show me their paintings from the week. Dozens hung on the walls, and all were high-quality.

Moments later I united with my host, a great master painter and instructor from the Surikov institute, part of the Russian Academy of Art, and a friend since 2004. I was there to paint at the Academic Dacha and in the surrounding area as his guest.

What If We Had This in the United States?

Imagine for a moment if such a place had existed in America, where all the great masters would gather and spend summers together. You would have Wyeth, Redfield, Rockwell, Payne, Bierstadt, Cole, and Church. Imagine if they’d had summer cabins nearby, and they lived there much of the year.

In Russia, the Academic Dacha was created by the Artists Union. Because they knew that plein air painting was critical to an artist’s development, they sent their students here to spend summers painting outdoors. These students would be around great masters who were also there to paint all summer. The surrounding cabins were owned by the great masters of Russia past … Repin, Levitan, Surikov, Shiskin … and they all painted on the property where I was staying. This tradition has taken place for over 200 years, in this same place, with every generation of artists.

Did I mention this is plein air heaven?

Among Painting Legends

It’s humbling to know I am standing and painting exactly where these amazing Russian legends had painted summer after summer.

The property, probably about 50 acres, is a postcard view at every turn. It’s poised on a beautiful lake, with a wonderful old bridge going across a small river (Repin did a famous painting there) and a little red house where Repin stayed that later became a small museum featuring all these artists’ work. The trees are changing color and are amazing.

A Home for Royalty

Next to the red house is an octagonal yellow house, built to give royalty a place to stay when traveling between Moscow and St. Petersburg. Inside, there is stained glass so intensely rich in color that the walls were flooded with vibrating hues unlike any I’d ever seen. Catherine the Great came here often. She loved spending time around the artists, I’m told. So did the czars.

Though I dreaded the cold, mold-filled nights (I’m still wheezing), this place was magical. My days were spent either painting or talking with the artists.

Creating Giant Paintings

Inside one studio was a great Russian master by the name of Igor Zeitza, who was working on a canvas that had to be 30 feet long and 20 feet high. “I don’t have room to do this in my studio in Moscow, so I come here to paint,” he said. His last giant painting had dozens of figures and took 10 years to complete.

The one he was working on was of a great moment in Russian military history, with about 10 life-size figures, and he estimated it would take another two years of work. He showed me the dozens of studies he’d painted over the past decade in preparation. All were masterpieces and reminded me of the studies in the Russian Museum that Repin had created for his monumental painting there.

Next door to me was the great Russian master Cederoff, now in his 90s and, like his neighbor, working on a huge painting because his home studio wasn’t large enough. With my translator I learned of his life, his history, and his passion for painting. “All of my paintings are of my life,” he said. “Even the big ones in the museums are memories of my childhood.”

I asked him why he paints, and his answer was unexpected. “I paint to give people encouragement and hope. I try to make everything I paint uplifting to the human spirit.”

He then pulled down two coffee-table books, flipped through them page by page, and told me the story of each painting. The one he was working on in the studio was in the book, but, according to him, “A painting is never really done.” The painting was of a peasant laying out stems from a crop on the grass. Another woman was staring at an orange full moon. “That’s my mother. We were working in the fields and the moon rose, and my mother said it was evidence that God was with us and supported our work.” He went on to tell me the painting was especially important because the crop is used to make linseed oil and the canvas we paint on.

Cederoff had 20 very large canvases stretched. “I have a show in May that I’ve not yet started. I have to make a painting for each of these. After that I’ll start working on my next big show to celebrate my 100th birthday.”

I could have stayed and listened to his stories all day, but I didn’t want to lose my light, so I did a painting of the yellow octagonal house from the bottom of the hill, looking up.

Meeting Up with Old Friends

Later we walked down the lane where I had walked in 2004, during my first visit, and where I met the great Russian legend Yuri Kugach, who was 91 or 92 at the time. Though he is gone now, his grandson Ivan, another amazing artist, had us in for dinner by candlelight in his grandfather’s house, which is now Ivan’s studio. We talked about art and sampled the local herb-infused vodka for hours. The next day we visited the dacha (cabin) of Ivan’s father, Michael Kugach, which I had visited in 2004. I had a chance to see his studio and the pieces he was working on.

Did I mention I was in plein air heaven?

A Village Like a Movie Set

Later, we drove an hour through the bumpiest and muddiest road I’ve probably ever been on, thinking we would get stuck at any moment. The car was sliding around, the tires were spinning, and rocks were thumping on the undercarriage. At the end of the road was a quaint small village of about 10 dachas, most of which were decorated with bright colors and beautiful wooden carvings. The area was used in a movie, though I don’t know the title.

The village cow wandered around curiously and was followed by her best friend, a sheep. As I was painting the intense afternoon sun on the face of the dacha in front of me, the cow came up to my paint box, took a sniff, looked up in apparent approval, and walked off with the sheep behind her. I’m thankful she wasn’t tempted to snack on my paints.

These are the moments plein air painting is made for. You can’t make this stuff up.

Opportunity Almost Missed

Had I not stayed at the studio at the Academic Dacha, I would have missed the most special moments of sitting with friends, sampling vodkas, eating fish caught earlier in the day and fresh apples off the tree down the road. We talked about paintings, painters, and the life of an artist … which I realized at that moment I was living, if only for a brief couple of days.

Tears were shed by my Russian artist friends and I when I departed for America from the airport in Moscow the following day. We had a wonderful memory in our three days together, did some great paintings, and wondered if we would ever see each other again.

Two weeks in Russia is not enough, and my next trip, if I can ever make it happen, will be nothing but painting … and who knows, maybe I’ll take some friends with me.

My moment of decision to accept my circumstances and not be a spoiled American made my trip a very rich experience. Instead of insisting on a change (and risking insulting my host) to have a better place to stay, I tolerated some conditions that were pretty harsh compared to my cushy life. But I just told myself it’s like camping.

The Spoiled American

I learned a lot about myself on that day and realized how fortunate I am, how spoiled I had become, and how the only things that mattered at that moment were the rich human experiences that can never be repeated. After all, how often do you get to paint with a couple of Russian masters, visit the cabins of some of the greatest living artists in Russia, and just hang and chat with one of the most important artists in the world? It was a great couple of days.

Turns out all 27 dachas didn’t have mold, just the one shared by me and Cederoff, next door. He told me he thought the ceiling might cave in, so he moved his paintings to the other side of the room. It appears there had been a leak in the roof in this old building, and it needs care and money, neither of which is readily available.

In spite of harsh media coverage about Russia, the experience of visiting is rich, not only because of the cultural experiences and the amazing paintings, but because of the warm, welcoming people. Though their nation, like ours, has its problems, those problems affect the people but don’t define them. These are special people, and my friends there share my passion for painting.

A Dream for an American Artists’ Retreat

I can’t help but think a wealthy donor will step up and help me create a special place like this in America, almost a commune of sorts, where we all live nearby and spend our summers painting together and working with students. Hey, it’s a dream. If Russia can have this, why can’t we?

I’m sure I’ll have many stories to share from this amazing trip over the coming weeks. But for now, enough about Russia.

Next Stop, Maine

Next Friday we start the Fall Color Week Publisher’s Invitational in Maine. About 60 painters and I gather to paint the amazing scenery for a week. We might still have a bed or two available, and the accommodations and food are really excellent if you’re feeling spontaneous and crave a week of painting fall color, crashing waves, and lobster boats.

Now that I’m back in my home, I look around, take a deep breath of crisp clean air, and value what I have in my life. They say difficult moments make great memories, and I’ll never forget these amazing days in brotherhood with artists from a different land.

I often don’t stop to appreciate what I have, but my perspective has recently changed. Have a great week.