Is Shell Art Over?

This year, I am making space for a new endeavor, which involves tracking the tides and making more frequent trips to the coast. It's not surfing. It's the furthest thing from it. My new Cali-quarantine hobby is beach combing! 

So far, the closest beaches have not turned up much beyond the usual shell and pebble fare, but when we visited my brother up the coast, I found an array of white and green sea glass plus a worn pottery shard that I count as a home run for a novice beach comber. 

The wonderful thing about beach combing is that for seasoned experts and  absolute newbies alike, the ocean contains enough for everyone. There is no shortage.

That being said, I read about a place called Sea Glass Beach in Hawaii that used to be covered in sea glass because of an old factory that dumped glass into the ocean decades ago, but then as word got out about this spot, some claim it was subsequently picked clean within a year.  There appears to still be a heavy coat of granular sea glass mixed into the sand, but regardless, I understand when the dedicated combers want to keep a good place under wraps.

Sea glass is mostly fun to find, but as for collecting it, to what end? In a cursory search for sea glass art, I found myself drawn to pieces that let each shape and color inform the composition as a whole. 

Here is an artist who appears to have the corner on sea glass art for using it in just such a way. I am likely never going to get this involved with sea glass, or anything else out of the ocean for that matter, but wow, I am duly impressed!

Since my greater goal is to write more, beach combing seemed rather like a sidestep at first. And yet perhaps there is a convergence of the two. Searching for stories is much like going to the ocean and seeing what washes up. It may feel like there is nothing new to find, and there will be days where nothing particular comes of all the time I dedicate to the search. But the ocean will continue to deliver gifts to those who are persistent and paying attention, as well as to those who are not. 

The craft of writing lies in what one then does with those gifts, whether searched out or happened upon. Build them back into a semblance of what they once were? Fit them into my preconceived notions of art? Organize them by size and color or toss them all in a glass jar? How do I let each piece fit together in a compelling and fresh way? I often get lost in such questions. But that's writing. Beach combing is not about what one does with one's findings. It is simply an exercise in the showing up and paying attention. 

And I feel like that hits on a big obstacle in writing. I struggle to trust that the ocean of ideas will continue to shore up things for me when I go there to look. I despair that all the little gifts have been picked over by others and there's no more to discover unless I find some secret cove that no one else knows about. But the ocean is not like that, and neither are seeds of a story. There is an unending wealth to draw from.

Bonus points if you know what the title is in reference to. I feel like it is relevant to the post, in that it's never too late to jump onto an overly crowded band wagon. (Shell art is not over.)