Inspired by Aesop’s fables and current events, “I told the crows” is the first painting in narrative series.

If you don’t know anything about crows, you should google them. Not only are they incredibly intelligent problem solvers, but they are community driven and look out for each other. If you piss off, antagonize, or harm a single crow, you provoke the entire murder. Crows can recognize individual human faces and have been observed holding grudges over said humans for up to 17 years. That’s right, if they catch you messing with one of their own, they will harass, scold, and attack you for nearly two decades. Additionally, in mythology and folklore, crows are messengers, scouts, and lookouts. They’re everywhere—watching, mourning, and warning.

Now, if you’ll notice, there are seven crows. That number is intentional. But the largest crow looks and flies straight ahead, while holding daffodils pulled out by the roots (one of which is alive while the other wilts). Daffodil are often seen as a symbol of hope. They are one of the first flowers to bloom at the end of winter.

That brings us to the snake, which is based off the timber rattlesnake, specifically native to eastern North America (home to the original 13 colonies). The snake, open-mouthed, striking at you, the viewer, is a nod to Ben Franklin’s 1754 “Join, or Die” cartoon, which is widely believed to be one of the first (if not the first) political cartoons published in an American newspaper. Its impact was widespread. It meant a lot of different things to a lot of different people and, arguably, was one of the first American artworks to go viral.

What is the relationship between these living (and dying) creatures? You have to decide that for yourself, and while you’re at it, perhaps ask yourself about *your* relationship to these creatures and the other living things around you. Or don’t. No one can tell you what to do.