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On the Road Not Taken
by Acree Carlisle
The story behind these wildlife drawings starts in August, 2006, when I decided
that I should move my architectural consulting business to my home. Knowing
my business office lease ended soon, I started to sort through
40 years’ worth of records, files, and other things that had
accumulated during my professional life as an architect. Although my home
office was large, it wasn’t big enough to hold all my stuff. So I had
to tediously decide what to throw away and what to keep. It was a sad personal
experience.
However, when I came to the shelf in my office that held my
old sketch books, dating from 1968 to 1973, something wonderful happened.
The difficult task
of sorting through my architectural things came to a halt, and I began
a pleasant journey reliving a happy and artistically productive period
of my life. I
sat down and looked through each sketch book, page
by page. Each drawing in the sketch books brought back the memories of
when and
why I did that sketch. Most of the drawings were done in pencil as the
preliminary design for watercolor and oil paintings. I hadn’t looked
at them in years, although I was always aware that they were safely tucked
away on a
back shelf.
During this “sketch book” period of my life (mostly my mid-30s),
I worked for The University of Texas System in Austin, Texas, as the architect
responsible for the master planning and planning of individual buildings for
the hospitals and educational healthcare campuses for the system. Since this
job did not require me to work at night or on weekends (and there were lots
of holidays), I had time to learn to draw and paint, interests I had always
wanted to cultivate beyond what I learned as an architecture student at UT-Austin.
In the early years, I spent most of my evening and weekend time focusing
on the development of my artistic talent. I read through books, took
classes, set myself to regular practice sessions to hone my hand and
eye skills. I set up a studio in our dining room, which didn't have a
lot of furniture. I frequented art shows and galleries, dreaming of the
day I would feel comfortable with selling my own art. Of all the art
classes that I took, I especially remember enjoying the life drawing
classes.
Many of my sketches and paintings focused on the natural scenery and
city landmarks around Austin and the beautiful nearby Hill Country. I
always brought a sketch book and painting supplies on family trips and
vacations, rising before dawn to get my art work done before my wife,
Corinne, and my three young girls, awoke. One
of my happiest memories for my entire life revolves around my painting
an early morning scene in the desert near Tuscon, Arizona, just before
sunrise. The 45 minutes I spent painting that desert scene were truly
sublime.
In the latter part of this artistic period, I began to sell some of my
watercolors and oil paintings. I had booths in many art shows in the
Central Texas area,
but many of my sales were to individuals in the Austin area who collected
my works. The income from my paintings grew to be almost
equal to my salary as an architect. In fact, I had decided that if the
income from
my art sales ever exceeded
the income from my day-time job, I would switch to painting full time.
As it happened, I didn’t quite reach that crossroads (though I got close),
which is probably best for my family since the life of an artist is not
always economically stable. Looking back on my mid- to late-30s, though,
still brings
back fond family memories. Our girls were beyond the diaper stage, but
had not reached the age of driver’s licenses. Corinne and I were still
young, living in Austin, making enough money, and being happy.
In 1973, another road in my life’s journey presented itself. A large
architectural and engineering firm I had previously worked for offered me
the opportunity to open an office in Houston and become a partner in the firm.
This sort of an opportunity is rare for an architect and I accepted the offer.
The next twenty years of my life were devoted to the development of this office
into a large architectural and engineering branch specializing in the design
of hospitals and medical facilities. I became licensed to practice architecture
in many states, ranging from the Carolinas to California and from Texas north
to Wisconsin. I did design work every day at the office, and most every night
and on the weekends at home. I had no time for my watercolor and oil painting,
although I did still enjoy nature photography and bird-watching on occasion.
In September of 1993, my wife and I decided that the constant 24-hour strain
on our family had to end, so I resigned from this firm. For the next 13 years,
I worked as an architectural consultant. I had more time for travel, photography,
bird-watching, gardening, and creating koi ponds, but I still didn’t
return to my first true passions: drawing and painting.
Which brings me back to the end of August, 2006, when it was
time for me to set up my home office and move in my now much-reduced “architecture
stuff.” In our home, my office is a large, well-lighted room upstairs.
It has glass doors and windows opening onto a balcony at each
end. There was enough space at the north end of this room, adjacent to
a balcony, for me to set up a drawing table next to the glass doors. It
turned out to be the best place I have ever had just to draw. Those sketch
books I found in my business office were still on my mind, so I bought
some small stands for them and set them up in various places around the
room to
display different sketches. I began to realize that some of those sketches
were really pretty good. I began to wonder if I could paint again. The
old creative juices were being stirred up by these haunting sketch books.
I made a decision to try to find my way back to drawing and painting. I felt
a great deal of trepidation, though, so I also decided to first tackle drawing,
believing that that would better prepare me for painting.
The following month, September, 2006, Corinne and I visited our youngest
daughter, Suzanne, and her family in Southlake, Texas. I took some of my old
drawing pencils and ink pens and an old sketch book that had some vacant pages.
While there, I found the picture of a Pinyon Jay in a magazine and early in
the morning before everybody was up, I attempted to draw that Jay. The drawing
turned out better than I expected and the comments from my family, later that
morning, were gracious and complimentary. With that minor success, I started
drawing again on a regular basis. As the year went by, I devoted more and
more time to drawing and my confidence grew.
Since I started learning to draw again, I have concentrated on pen and ink
wildlife drawings. Most recently, I have narrowed my passion to drawing the
big cats. This has surprised me somewhat since I didn’t start out with
that specific goal in mind. I get a lot of satisfaction out of taking a blank
piece of paper and watching the image of a bird or animal emerge before me
as I draw. I spend a great deal of time making sure the eyes are exactly in
the right position. When the eyes (drawn in pencil) become alive, it gives
me a kind of high I don’t experience in any of my other endeavors. Sometimes
those eyes stare back at me and they watch me as I draw.
Why have I focused my drawing skill on wildlife pen and ink drawings? I’ve
wondered if the answer lies in my experiences as a youth, growing up in Uvalde,
Texas. I spent a lot of time hunting and fishing with my father, whose business
partner owned several very large ranches in Southwest Texas. My father had
hunting camps on those ranches and he took me with him to hunt and to fish.
He taught me how to be quiet— I could only whisper to him when hunting –and
how to walk in nature without making a sound. He taught me how to really “see,” like
spotting only the eye of the buck that is looking at me through the brush.
There were whitetail deer, javalinas, coyotes, bobcats, quail, doves, ducks,
a few cougars and lots of rattlesnakes on those ranches. I later used these
same “seeing” skills to photograph in nature and watch for birds
in their natural habitat. I guess concentrating on drawing wildlife at this
stage in my life represents a coming together of the many roads I have traveled.
Looking back now, over a year later, I see that the painful event of the
closing of my office has turned out to be a wonderful life-changing event
for me. It was the catalyst that got me to drawing again and focusing on subject
matter that truly stirs my soul.
I am still working as an architectural planning consultant and my days are
very busy. But to make sure that I draw every day, I get up at 5 a.m. and
I draw from 5:30 a.m. to 7:30 a.m. Then I can start my regular day relieved—and
happy—that for today I am drawing again. Someday I may include painting,
too, but for now, I am back on the road not taken, and happy to be there.
I hope you enjoy my wildlife art.
Cheers,
Acree
December, 2007
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