A Murder of Crows
- Caroline Clarke

- May 15, 2024
- 3 min read

“. . . Such charming and whimsical lexical feasts
are served in abandon on bundles of beasts . . . .”
We get inspiration from those around us — the smarts, generosity, and excitement they each bring into the world. In my immediate circle, I’m lucky to have a poet at my side, a sister who writes stories, a brother who designs garden landscapes, a sister-in-law who dances, and a brother-in-law who takes photographs. Not to mention my friends who paint, draw, illustrate, write, play guitar, piano, and who make dioramas for their neighborhood because, well, just because.
This week’s jolt of fun and inspiration — The Book of St. Albans, 1846 (above) — is from my favorite poet.
THE BOOK OF ST. ALBANS, 1486
The gentleman hunter's high manner behooves
he point and he shoot at each creature that moves.
In forests and meadows, in marshes and moors,
he hunts them in droves and he culls them in scores.
But back in the manor, good manners compel
he never, but never, would count up his fell—
polite conversation demanded a way
of quite understating his multiple prey.
And so, in the Book, for the likes of Lord Snot,
his geese are in gaggles, his snakes in a knot.
Such charming and whimsical lexical feasts
are served in abandon on bundles of beasts:
a parcel of hogs and a husking of hares,
a covey of grouse and a slothing of bears;
and likewise the Book of St. Albans bestows
a kettle of hawks and a murder of crows;
a wrangle of deer and, if that's not enough,
a covert of coots and a chatter of chough.
And who, but a fuss of professors in gowns,
would nowadays cherish these wonderful nouns?
~ Neil A Doherty, professor emeritus,
University of Pennsylvania
(used by permission)
Also on my mind: Feedback loops
A feedback loop can be a specific thing in business or the tech world. One (borrowed) definition — "[a feedback loop] is a process in which the outputs of a system are circled back and used as inputs.”
This definition largely works for me. I have goals for my art. In the process of making pictures, I include feedback loops to help me reach them. Here are a few simple ones with short turnarounds that I use every day —

The whiteboard. The pictures I make each day go here and stay up for the week. As the week progresses and the board fills up, they suggest new compositions, color schemes, techniques.

Day One Journal app — for quick collection and visualizing. In my @Studio journal, I collect notes, photos of experiments and play. Easy to throw in photos, a note or a curiosity to look into later.

The phone’s lock screen. My images as the wallpaper. See them every time I pick up the phone. Today’s, for example — love that dark green. I’ll share these occasionally on Instagram, the “In my pocket” series.
Walking by the whiteboard in the hall, opening my phone or reviewing my daily journal — it's funny how the weaknesses of a piece jump out at me in those moments. More surprising perhaps is that the strengths can do that too.
Feedback loops let me analyze my stuff almost without trying — I notice what grabs and holds my attention (in a good or bad way). With repeated viewings I fall out of infatuation with my pictures and see them in a more balanced way. Hmmm — look at that tangent and the boring shape along with the lovely green color.
When it’s positive — I’ve pulled out what I like or want to do more of — the feedback loop helps to hot wire my intuition going forward. For instance, I see interesting lines for the first time in a quick sketch and again in the drawing next to it on the whiteboard. By the third drawing I’m purposeful with incorporating line.
Noticing line this week:
▪️ Drawn with a twig from the garden
▪️ Added through-lines from crow
▪️ Scratched on palette paper
▪️ Making boxes in the sketchbook
In a nutshell, feedback loops support a focus. They’re opportunities to interact naturally with my drawings, to recognize lessons, and to repeat effective elements in the next drawing.

































This was great to read. I learn from your path. Susie