Let me tell you the story of the Touchstones.

It was just before 9/11. I had been holding a piece of porcelain in my hand, musing about its texture and how it felt. It was like a stone. I rolled it into a comfortable form and picked up a tool I use for carving tiles. I began to write words on the stones. No thought, just action. I rubbed colorants into the carved areas, as I do with tiles, and fired the pieces.

These little stones are similar to what people all over the world hold: worry stones, beads, and the like. In the business of daily life, we— I —-often lose track of things worth remembering. These little pieces of porcelain became touchstones – reminders – to pay attention. I began carrying them in my pocket. Each time I handle them, they help me remember.

A year after 9/11, I was in the studio when a couple visiting from New York City came in. In our conversation they mentioned they were planning a walk at dawn, with a group of bagpipers, from Battery Park to the place now known as Ground Zero. The woman wanted to buy a touchstone that had PEACE on it. I gave her a dozen and a half or so, asking her to pass them on.

A week after that, I received an email from a man who had received one of those stones. He wrote that he had been in his office near the Twin Towers on September 11th and that receiving the touchstone was a life affirming experience —a connection with others who cared.

I continue to make them, on and off, when the time seems right to me. I no longer sell these little pieces, rather, I give them away.

I’ve sent them all over the world, often requesting that the recipient keep one and either give the other to a stranger or leave it to be found. They have been left in shops, restaurants, playgrounds, hospitals, museums, libraries, and nature trails. They traveled to the first Women’s March – both in Cleveland, Ohio, and in Washington, DC.  I most recently mailed some to Ireland and Sweden.

They mean different things to different people. I once gave a handful of touchstones to a friend whose loved one would be undergoing surgery. On her way to the surgical waiting room, she left them in different public areas of the hospital. A short while later she heard a woman squeal to her companion, “Look at this! Can you believe it? It was right here.”

“It’s a sign,” her companion said, “I knew Grandpa would be okay.”

Example of a Debra Bures tile.
“Moody Blues”. Porcelain tile; hand carved, inlaid glazes, enhanced with fused stained glass