Nancyanne Cowell  
Fine Art Studio

   COFFEE, available artwork





          (click image to view)     


A selection of prose by Nancyanne... 


























































































































12 O'Clock Waltz
I like breezes and the fullness of peonies.
The wobble and grace of sweet peas.
Still waters, serenity, a moody calling sea.
The strength of gentleness, its' force.
Vast skies, thunder, unveiling of a mist.
The leftover love in puddles, its' rain.
Cast seeds, mystery, delicate budding vines.
The wisdom flowing from a parent tree, its' depth.
And I find these all from eternity's jar of light.





Real life is vast. Love is a main ingredient. Communication makes adversity bearable and art is the deepest embrace of communication. It recognizes the hidden spring that is in all of us. 

Their Percussive Heartbeats 
The wind that speaks with the lips of roses.  What is beyond?  A petal of knowing answers.  The open windows that breathe the day.  What is within?  A wrinkle of skin explains.  Tell us how to speak the colors of all beauty.  Only one answered.  Every leaf that falls is given life in you.  Yielding love to joy,  I counted many minds.  



Fusing Love

The swan’s quill has within it kindness.  Our Earth is a rose, rising through concrete, despite the thorns time offers. Her beauty will always remain – a glorious wonder.   Petals reaching, she likes looking up to the clouds. Their restless journey, where no person has set foot. The forest is her song, no words, but all manner of music. The ocean is her wine, no drink, yet all tributaries of life. For in the brave hope of all worldly things, lies choice.   



Quill of Hope
If love was a bird.
Our hearts would mutate.
A mutation of embrace.




Dusty Hearts Unfurled
Wind swept seed pods nest their fate anew, seeking empathy. Sleeping giants. Awakening fragrances. Even as a raindrop is falling, it will often collide with other raindrops and increase in size. Once the size of a raindrop gets too large, it will eventually break apart, back into smaller drops. However, when the rain stops and you look up, there is always a puddle of fallen memories rippled with chemical nourishment. Love rain down. 



Sweet Occasion
I found this most charming vase in the recycle and took it home with me. Deep inside the glass vase, where no one could see, several cracks appeared. Most delicately, I washed the curves with soap and water until they shined. I put fresh water and flowers in it every day until the cracks on the surface started to heal. Sometimes the vase stood fragile - when seen inside, but I would place more flowers in, and fill it with my favorite song. It would be transformed again. It knows it is strong enough for anything. 



Between Tomorrow

A birth has within it a miracle of grace.  Felt from time’s chest, it brands the heart anew. You could fly as far as you want, breaking through the Earth’s bowl — for only love is in your role.  Soaring on your wings of change, heat the awakening.  For, we do not have centuries.  Nor, do we have generations.  Only years.    



Shades Of Wonderland
I want to breathe you in. Our melody found in dust motes. And innocence lost in song notes.  We will never be apart. Dancing from the start. Children of tomorrow.  Shining out the sorrow. Falling down the rogue wave.
Alice prevailed.  



Loses Its' Cleated Knot
People have a wider relationship with birds as they are part of our language. They offer daily music. Remind us to nest. In flight, wings span a sanctuary for thought. We tug on a wishbone for hope and name them after our Country.  When I need to find my way, hummers are the spinners of light and sparrows dance in the dust. 




Never Gone
Take us inside, remembering.  Where the children of tomorrow share their dreams, with you and me. On the wind of a thirst we can't forget. On the storm of a hunger we'll always remember. In what new sky do we steal colours, as the moon rises in our hearts? May we live their resting Peace. 






Fate Is A Sea Without A Shore
The whisper of the ocean is held in the sound of old thoughts inside the weave of the sea shell's crevices. It enables us to rethink the landscape we paint for ourselves, intertwingled inhabitants. Silent, scratched and rolling through tides, the sea shell touches our lives and finds its way into our memories. We pocket the karma in the resurrection of hope to spread these old thoughts in our own architecture.  They are after all...a house that once carried a life.