Beachcombing Texel April 2016

Last weekend I was at Texel, an island in the north of the Netherlands. My parents rent a house there for some weeks and I came over to visit with my sister (that made quite a lot of the pics below).

Map Texel


This is always a gorgeous moment: crossing the dunes and seeing the sea. Sea equals freedom equals silence equals peace equals ‘plastic soup’ equals drinking a nice beer or coffee with sand between the toes after a long walk. Everything tastes better when you have sand between your toes. I even could eat disgusting garlic-olives then.

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The job starts: looking for trash. I seem to always have this position when I beachcomb, like a curved old puppet. They should not put me on the catwalk like this.


Suddenly I saw this spot. Oh poor environment, dealing with this Plastic Age! Even when we stop using plastic now, the oceans will be filled with tons of plastic for the coming ages. But my beachcomb-heart started to pound faster. I felt a bit like a drug addict that sees some free cocaine lying around, I guess. However, at this point I have to admit something – I do it now, before my friends and family tell something about it in some documentary they will shoot about me in 10 years: I do not pick up áll of the trash. I’m not a die hard beachcleaner. When it’s really ugly I don’t take it with me. Sorry, ocean! Sorry, environmentalists that will now call me a hypocrite! I’m a typical product of my generation: we want to save the world, but having fun is important as well. Carrying dirty shoes and artistically uninteresting soda packages with me is not fun. To counterbalance this, I’m conscious about my use of plastic, recycle as much as possible, print my cards on biological paper, give money to the Plastic Soup Foundation, and tell you to stop using plastic and start cleaning beaches (I recommend to pick up dirty shoes and uninteresting soda packages).

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Not all beachfinds-credits go to me. I’ve gathered some good apprentices, like my dad and my sister. My dad found the gorgeous piece of plastic that looks like a skyline of a city or a factory. My sister found a great piece of a shell that will make a fantastic bird-pecker.


Such a happy beachcomber!

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Here I am trying to transfer my absolute passion for a damaged plastic bottle that I found. I truly see a great future for this bottle. It could become a vase or a dress or a space ship.


Mostly I don’t see shit of the landscape, because I walk with my nose in the sand, like a police dog looking for traces. But the view is worth looking up every now and then. The colours of the West Frisian Islands are stunning.


Yeah, new stash’s in and the plastic soup’s boilin’.


I am so dedicated to my trash that after waking up, I wash my pieces of plastic even before I take a shower or dress myself.



I found many, many great pieces of plastic. As my sister said: it was really an elite beachcombing beach – trash for connoiseurs. Sometimes I just find plane pieces of plastic and a lot of lids, but at Texel, I found funny and extraordinary shapes. It was like shopping at Louis Vuitton instead of the Primark. The two small lids will become vases for Plastic Soup Plants. The round, yellowish thing in the right under corner makes a perfect body for a beachtrash beatle.


The wind blew these yellow pieces of plastic of the table. OMG, the shock I had when I admired my new stash and I didn’t see the yellow pieces I wanted to use as eyes or as polka dots on a sweater! I thought the chicken had eaten them, because animals do eat plastic soup. And they DIE of it. DIE. Happily, I found them back in the garden.


I visited the art gallery of Maria Roelofsen as well. She is also a passionate beachcomber. It’s always nice to be in touch with someone who understands the thrill of a gorgeous piece of plastic. She makes art of large pieces of plastic while I pick up only the small stuff. Large pieces scare me, because they’re large. But, this time, I decided to push my boundaries a bit and I collected some big pieces as well. Don’t know yet what I’m going to do with it.


The saddest moment in a beachcomber’s life: leaving the island…


…because suddenly I am not the free girl at the beach anymore, but some crazy chick in the train that carries a bag of trash.

Check for my art!