What crocodile? You know what crocodile. This one:

The one what ate the alarm clock and who eventually comes for us all. That crocodile.

Why am I going on about a ticking crocodile . . . because he came for Akira. The truly wonderful and entirely talented Akira Blount. Remember these:

The people with animal face masks. She taught classes in this, and though I didn’t get a chance to take one I hear they were great.

Her work later began to incorporate more and more natural materials, like this piece with twig hair.

And finally, these fantastic pieces with turned and carved wooden skirts. Forgive the tragically bad photo, conditions were way less than ideal.

This jack-in-the-box is the only piece of Akira’s work that I have. It was the souvenir at the annual NIADA conference one year. I remember leaving the banquet that night holding it and hearing Bill Nelson crowing to a group of people ahead of us in the hallway about how great his Jack’s thumbs were. They were the best Jack thumbs at his table. So we (the people I sat with a dinner) went over and asked what was all this about thumbs? Bill explained the clear superiority of his Jack and then said “Show me your thumbs”. We (my dinner group) had not paid particular attention to the relative quality of our Jack thumbs. So we popped open our Jacks and held them up for inspection. A deep silence fell . . . and persisted. Bill scowled — at me; my Jack’s thumbs had bested his. Then we all laughed and went to find a cosy place to laugh some more and talk the rest of the evening away.

It’s been really, really hard to write this post. That damn crocodile has been wreaking havoc among this particular group of people I care about. Mirren, Martha, Susie, Elizabeth, Barbi, and now Akira. These aren’t just people I admire and am inspired by. These are people I knew, people I’ve spent time with; had long talks with; shared meals with. People I had a deep and lasting affinity with. People who are leaving a significant hole in both my heart and my life.

So if you even think you hear something going “Tick-Tack Tick-Tack”: Run Like Hell.