Fine Art Work by Nancy Houser
Winning my first art show in the 7th grade, creativity began with a macaroni design borrowed from the design of my gray circular poodle skirt with pink dogs chasing yarn. The art contest was sponsored by the National Bell Telephone Company (ahem – ‘ma Bell it was know then). After that, art and I were bonded hand in hand. And nothing was ever designed on a the average level, always organic to abstract.
I do the illustrations in WayCoolDogs and take photographs of all our dogs. I never have taken a simple artistic path in life, always working as far and wide from normality as I could. I am posting some of my fine art work on this page to give you an idea what I do. Thank you for being interested; I appreciate it.
Fine Art by Nancy Houser
A bugle’s tune is playing,
playing just for me.
Six soldiers are carrying me
to my final resting place.
Beneath me, I saw my mother’s tears
I wanted to smile at her and say, please don’t cry ….
I went to fight for what I thought was right.
Perhaps I was wrong
but I would do it all over again
I would fight for all to have a life
— by giving up my own life.
Art by Nancy L. Young-Houser and Poem by Sandra S. Marquiss
I have stood beside you
so tall and strong at the peak of your young lives
. . . it is really hard to remember my past memories of you learning how to crawl,
continuously falling down
bruises upon bruises
and at last, walking in triumph . . upon two shaky little feet
it is really hard to see past my memories
the very first day at school … scared to death
shaking inside with one strong person on the outside . . . a lesser one on the inside
never wanting to be anything less than perfect
yet not wanting anyone to know … the other person
it is really hard to see past memories
over the teen years, with piles of bikes and toys lining our yards
yet at times, being on the edge
young boys spending the nights
mixed with anger, caring, tremendous outbursts
love to the final end always results in utter chaos
seeking eventual peace
it is really hard to see past memories of the teenage struggles,
so heartbreaking and unreal
appearing to destroy not only yourself,
but those around you
mixed with bits of fear that few could see
leading to the inevitable falls of emotions and tears
always with you
walking away in sorrow and loneliness
only to eventually find yourself and see how wonderful you really are
it is really hard to see past memories, my sons . . .
the growth of a complete person who knows right and wrong,
knowing how to give and take
but through it all . . .
I have found the memories are not really necessary
Love is enough to appreciate you for who you have grown into.
Art Work and Poem by Nancy Houser
Adrift upon the sea of forgetfulness
floating, drifting . . . in an endless swirl.
Colors are vivid,
brighter than I’ve ever seen before,
spinning in my head
green, blues and reds fading, fading . . .
into the depths of darkness
covering my world in an endless abyss.
I see my fate written by the hands of death
my dying future, impressed upon my raving mind.
Dearest death . . . standing there so close to me
I feel your dreaded breath upon my shaking spine.
Sinking, sinking . . . back into the sea . . . engulfing me.
I cannot move
as fear holds me every so tight.
Your haunting laughter makes foolish mockery of my life
I must stop this hellish nightmare
for fear I will lose my mind
floating, drifting . . .
deep into the sea of forgetfulness
climbing the cliffs of time.
art by Nancy L. Young-Houser and poem by Sandra S. Marquiss