When I first moved to Israel in the summer of 2019, I attended a Hebrew school for new immigrants called an "ulpan", located right on the beach of Haifa Bay - a part of the Mediterranean Sea.
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I would often walk barefoot in the surf to recover after a day full of lessons (learning a new language from scratch in your 30s is no joke).  And usually end up scooping up a jar of saltwater from the bay and a handful of shells, sit on the beachside bike side, and use both to paint.
 
And then, afterwards, I did a very Midwestern thing: I took the shells home with me, and started collecting them.  I would sort them by color and size and shape and marvel at them like little jewels.
 
And then, one day, my Israeli husband saw me doing this - and, with a face of genuine confusion, asked me, "Why?"
 
"What do you mean why??" I chirped.  "They're seashells!"
 
In Columbus, I was a 12-hour drive from the closest body of saltwater.  If I was lucky, I might get to spend one week a year by the ocean, and then only on vacation.  So, seashells were symbolic of travel, vacation, warmth.
 
Whereas Ido has never lived more than a 10 minute drive from the Mediterranean Sea.  And drives down the coastal road, Road #2, to work every single day.  Shells, to him, were as common as pebbles and sand.
 
And even though shells are now just as common to me in my new life - they still retain that exotic magic they always held for me as a Midwestern kid.
 
DIMENSIONS:
5.75 inches by 8.25 inches (14.5 cm x 21 cm)
 
WATER:
The Mediterranean Sea
Collected and bottled up on the beach in Haifa Bay
 
MATERIALS:
Daniel Smith Watercolors
Micron Archival Pens
Cold Press Paper