The Imposter Syndrome, a deeper dive
The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines the imposter syndrome as “a psychological condition characterized by persistent, deep-seated doubt regarding one’s abilities or accomplishments, accompanied by a fear of being exposed as a fraud, despite clear evidence of success.” This condition is so widespread that large percentages of professionals across charity work, healthcare, academia and STEAM (science, technology, engineering, arts and math) experience it. When one has a life history of dealing with internal voices of doubt, it becomes easy to assume those voices are purely personal rather than a shared human experience.
This truth became the common thread during a recent visit with my fellow undergrad classmate and sculptor, Erik Ebeling. In the early 2000s, we both attended Drake University in Des Moines, Iowa, but more on that in a moment.
My own academic path was circuitous. After taking a year off post high school, I earned my associates degree from a college in my hometown of Clinton, IA. With Gen Ed courses completed and an inkling of an idea of a career as a graphic designer, in 1991 I went to the capitol of Iowa, Des Moines and enrolled at Drake. The early 1990s were the time when Apple was revolutionizing the graphic design field. However, after two semesters I left, realizing it wasn’t my calling.
A summer trip to Harrisburg Pennsylvania in 1992 turned into ten years. During that time, I worked as a professional automotive detailer to pay the bills, but the deeper compulsion to create never left. Serendipity is a cunning muse with clever timing. In 1997, a friend approached me to commission a painting as a Christmas gift for her husband. My immediate response was “I did art throughout school, but I’ve never taken a painting class in my life. I’m not a painter.” Her reply was “Sure you’re a painter; you just don’t know it.” That piece still hangs in their living room and I have never stopped creating.
A transformative two-week trip in the summer of 2001 to Italy sealed my commitment to the artistic life. Italy has such an embarrassment of riches: historically, culturally, artistically, scenically, linguistically and culinarily. Armed with a friend’s camera I let my creative eye capture ‘la mia esperienza Italiana.’ Photography served as another means of exploring my budding esthetic. It remains to this day part of my discipline. The morning after returning to the states, I went for a walk by the Susquehanna River, sat beneath a tree and wept. The tears came from gratitude for having the opportunity to have experienced Italy and its art before I died. The following year, armed with a portfolio from a self-guided artist, I returned to Drake. This time I was enrolled in the fine arts program.
As a self-taught painter and self-guided artist, the Imposter Syndrome deeply influenced my journey. It was especially potent during my second tenure at Drake. I spent the rest of my time in my undergrad fearing the “gods of art” would discover my secret and expel me. They never did.
It was one of the best times of my life. I was blessed to be in the company of some truly gifted and dedicated fellow artists. It is fairly uncommon for a program to have such an intense gathering of talent. That was where I met Cody, Dan B, Dan R, Paul, Hope, Dan P, Nate, and Erik. These were the wonderfully creative and freaky, my core peeps. We all shared the same foundational drawing classes. Some of us focused on print, others focused on graphic design, painting or sculpture, but we all convened weekly on the communal and gloriously bohemian holy ground of the drawing studio. The core of what we learned was that drawing is to the visual arts what mathematics is to science: the essential language upon which everything else is built. At the end of the program, we were divided into groups for our BFA thesis exhibitions.
A note about Hope, she was the only female in that core group, but damn did she make a powerful statement. For her thesis exhibit, she constructed 8 to 10 proportional rectangular boxes of varying in size between 2 and 3 feet tall, painted them white and used ink to illustrate on each side her own hentai (Japanese anime, manga illustrations featuring hardcore pornographic imagery). These boxes were then staged in the gallery for the viewer to walk around and take in all of their artistic and sexually explicit glory. That was the most baller thing I had seen. Kudos to her for having the strength to put that out there for the Midwest to experience and to Drake University for not censoring.
Erik, though part of that core creative circle, was not in my BFA exhibition group. I deeply admired his work and his conviction. He was one of the few who, like me, was committed to figurative sculpture and shared my love of Italy. We bonded over Michelangelo and Florence, home of the David. But there is so much more of Michelangelo’s work there. There are works in the Bargello National Museum, the Uffizi, Opera del Duomo, and the Casa Buonarroti. It is also home to the tomb of the Medicis, and several of Michelangelo’s ‘Slaves’. These are marble sculptures of figures emerging from stone. They were originally intended to adorn the monumental tomb of Pope Julius II. The project was scaled back and these sculptures, mid development, ended up elsewhere.
Four of these slaves line the hallway leading into the David. Erik and I admired how different these were to the earlier works of Michelangelo. We both noticed how much more dynamically gestural they were and how they seemed complete, as if the remaining material was part of the piece. It seemed to us that these beautiful works were the predecessors to Rodin. We were young artists who loved the figure in art, making intuitive connections across centuries.
After graduating in 2005, we all went our separate ways. Cody, Dan B and I stayed in the Des Moines area for a while. Paul returned to his home state of Kansas. Word was that Hope made it to LA and landed a gig in the gaming industry. Erik eventually settled in the Bay Area. I earned my MFA from Iowa State University in 2015 and promptly returned to south-central PA. I have spent the last eleven years building my post-graduate school body of work and the strategic plan for Earle Rock Studios.
Part of that plan includes The Expressive Compulsive Disorder, an interview series exploring the compulsive nature of creativity. Click on the link above to view the first season. When I approached Erik a few years ago about being interviewed, he politely declined. During my visit with him in February 2026, I asked again and gently pressed for his reason. He told me it was Imposter Syndrome.
I was stunned. Here was an artist whose work clearly exemplifies mastery, yet he still battles the same internal voices I have carried for decades. Over the span of two afternoons we talked art making and sculpture, techniques and materiality. We talked about how hard it is to be an artist and the changing role that patrons play throughout history. We spoke at length about our practices—how he reinterprets ancient myths like the Centaur and Harpy, not in poses of action, but in quiet, resting states where their humanity is laid bare. His figures feel remarkably alive and real. At first glance they appear simple, almost effortless, yet knowing the skill required makes them haunting in their depth.
Here is a section of his artist’s statement where he talks about his work.
In my current work I’m exploring mythological figures and creatures, both ancient and contemporary, depicting them not as heroes in action but as observers in enigmatic, meditative moments. This allows the viewer an open avenue to contextualize and interpret the mood and atmosphere created by the physical presence of the figure, without the burden of an overly prominent narrative. In creating these solitary figures, I’m pursuing a kind of nebulous and elusive beauty.
I’m interested in the way light interacts with the textured surface, the way a form can feel rough while still giving the impression of a highly modeled figure. I believe sculpture should be designed to be visually compelling from all angles and distances; as the viewer enters the space occupied by the piece, the ambiguous attitude and disposition of the portrait impels further contemplation of feeling, meaning and metaphor.
As mentioned in a previous article, Erik’s work has been displayed at the London Art Biennale in 2021 & 2023. His work has been featured on the cover of Fine Art Connoisseur Magazine just to name a two of his many recognitions. Erik is building an international reputation from Portland by doing something quietly different: he contemporizes ancient myths. In these still, contemplative states, the mythical becomes intimate. Erik’s figures do not perform for the viewer — they simply exist, thoughtful, and undeniably human. Looking at his sculptures, I see the same truth I have come to understand through my own work: the most powerful art often emerges not from grand action, but from the willingness to reveal vulnerability.
Erik’s admission reminded me that the Imposter Syndrome does not discriminate — it visits the gifted and the struggling alike. What we call “talent” is often just persistence wearing a better disguise. For people like Erik and I, art, then, becomes the great equalizer and liberator. It is the practice through which we prove to ourselves, again and again, that we are not frauds — we are simply human beings doing the sacred, messy work of evolving through our creativity. In that way, every sculpture, every painting, every honest creative act is an act of defiance against the lie of “not enough.” To experience Erik’s work, visit Erik Ebeling. As for a future interview on The Expressive Compulsive Disorder, Erik said he wouldn’t say no.
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