When I lay all seven Touchstones out, side-by-side, Circle is smack-dab in the center. In an ideal world, we would be able to have our shit figured out before we sit in Circle, and yet we wake up there, messy, in media res.
My words jumble up in my throat, all wanting to emerge at once. It feels like this, sitting in Circle, feeling all eyes swivel your direction, expectant. You have the floor, and your thoughts all bumble out, raw and unprocessed.
And within this crucible, a narrative is formed.
The unassuming quartz I chose to represent Circle is worked over with circles stained by red clay. It comes from the Little River outside Maryville, Tennessee, evoking gorgeous dappled memories.