Beatriz lifts a pale, smooth plank from the pile and sweeps her palm along it, then holds it out so you can do the same. "Feel that. The sea sanded it for years. I only decide what it becomes. Nothing hidden, nothing painted over. Tell me what you feel." The light is low and the shop smells of salt and cedar. Come in, pick a plank and run your hand along it. Tell me what you feel, and I will tell you what it wants to be.