Deck Review: The Black Tarot (By R. Black)

This deck. Guys. This deck.

OK, first things first, the deck (The Black Tarot by Rich Black) is a lot of money ($100 USD), more if you live in the UK like me (add on $30 for shipping). You also pay the artist and creator through their cash app, with feels a bit sketch (though my deck arrived promptly, and there were zero issues, so I can vouch for everything being above board). The internet will inform you there were lots of (pretty serious) quality issues with the first print run (terrible quality cardstock, sharp corners, poor finish, small), and though this second print run is much better (linen cardstock, rounded corners, standard Tarot size), there’s def still improvements that could be made.

The Deck: Look, Feel, and Finish

Seeming as my review pretty much boils down to ‘this deck is mind altering, it will make you a better reader, you should absolutely get this deck‘, I feel I should be as blunt about its failings as I am effusive about its myriad (MYRIAD!) successes: the box is a piece of crap 😂. It’s a very lightweight tuckbox, and mine did not appreciate its transatlantic travels, arriving pretty mangled. The guidebook is slim and lightweight and pretty bare bones (espec given how deep and complex the deck is). It has a few keywords and some very cool (and apt) quotations for each card, but my book seems to have a number of misprints where the wrong suits appear above the definitions – which could get very confusing very fast if you didn’t already know your stuff. The cards are fine. Do I personally prefer borderless? Yes. Could the cardstock be more luxe? Yes. But tbh it’s very hard to care when the deck art itself is *this* good.

Black is clearly a very talented artist, with a 20th century realist no-nonsense kind of style. The art reminds me a bit of the Prismatic Tarot, and the muted palette reminds me a bit of the Green Glyphs Tarot, so if that’s your bag you’ll love this deck. There’s great attention to detail throughout, and it doesn’t surprise me that the creator was developing the deck for a number of years – you can see how much effort has gone in to each image. The suits are colour coded, which gives a nice consistency to the deck and makes it easier to read; and the P/K/Q/K are depicted as daughter/son/mother/father here, which removes some of the hierarchical elements of the Tarot. However, where this deck really blows me away – so much so it has made it into my All Time Greats – is the incredible way the creator has interpreted the themes of the RWS and translated them into something fresh, different, profound, and often very moving. This deck gave me goosebumps. This deck made me cry.

This deck. GUYS. This deck!!!!

Greatest Hits: My Favourite Cards from the Black Tarot

At first this Chariot card appears very simple and direct (in a pleasing way) – it’s showing us mind over matter. The Chariot is a card that, in its simplest terms, is about sheer force of will and the triumph of willpower over the environment. By placing the traditional chariot imagery inside the head of the central figure, Black is showing us that the chariot is just that – a metaphor for our internal mental strength. By controlling his figurative steeds, the chariot driver controls his instinctive desires. However, on a closer look there’s so much more going on with this card. Unlike many of the other cards in the deck, Black has chosen to keep a lot of the complex imagery and symbolism present in the RWS: the concept of balance with the ying and the yang (don’t want the chariot tipping over!), the emphasis on the zodiac elements of the card (Cancer – the Chariot is a heavily armoured little crab after all), the two moons – which to me echo the crustacean theme (Moon cards also love their shellfish). I like it when cards take the Cancer aspect to explicitly link the Chariot to the Moon, as this reflects the battle between that which we can mentally control (Chariot) and that which remains ephemeral, unpredictable and unknowable (Moon). There’s just layers and layers here, and I could look at each card in this deck for hours.

We have the same ‘inside our heads’ metaphor at work with the Hermit, with his traditional lantern transformed here into his third eye. Which also forms the sun. The light of our own wisdom does not just guide our path, it also leads us through the necessary darkness of solitude to contentment and self-acceptance in the clear brightness of the Sun. I feel so many of these Majors (fairly explicitly) link themselves to the other Majors they share themes with, and this really helps me to connect the cards in the deck (and the stages of the Fool’s journey) in new and fresh ways. EVERY DAY IS A SCHOOL DAY WITH THE BLACK TAROT Y’ALL!

The Justice card here eschews the traditional two pillars, yet their legacy still haunts this imagery, in a really clever way. The two pillars of justice are taken to represent mercy and severity. The pillar of mercy represents forgiveness for our wrongs. The pillar of severity represents the law of necessity – that we must reap what we sow (or, karma if you will). Both are necessary for justice to be served. In this image we have the same idea: the swords of karma, the flowers of forgiveness. I love the purple flowers here particularly, as they remind me of this quotation (attributed to Mark Twain, but probably apocryphally): “Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it“. The Justice card reminds us that true justice is complex, and requires a balance of ‘just deserts’ with rehabilitation and forgiveness.

I also like this Hanged Man, with his heart suspended in chains. We can think of the message of the Hanged Man – his theme of willing self-sacrifice – as a call to release ourselves from the things in our lives that our heart chains itself to. Things that, while important to us, may also be holding us back. Jen Cownie & Fiona Lensvelt explain in ‘Wild Card‘ that we all have “dreams, desires, or wishes, or possible future versions of yourself that you avoid contemplating, because to chase after them would be to throw away everything that you’ve won, built, or amassed thus far. It would mean dismantling what you know of the world, or of yourself – and that cost is too high, isn’t it? (or is it?)” 

Ooof, this Tower. I think it does a great job of illustrating the meta message of the Tower: the hubris of man. Our scientific inventions and achievements, like sequencing DNA and nuclear power, are our greatest strengths, yet they also contain within them the seeds of our downfall. Thinking ourselves too big to fail. We’re so smart we found the building blocks of our own existence, and yet so stupid that, in our stubborn pride, we risk grinding them to rubble. We are so smug in the tall towers we have built ourselves, so convinced of our rightness. But the lightning will come for us all at some point.

After the horrifying insights of the Tower, I welcome this healing World card. It depicts (or, I think it depicts!), a Tibetan monk destroying a sand mandala. To make a sand mandala, monks will spend hours and hours carefully pouring coloured sand, creating a very detailed and beautiful piece of artwork. Once complete, these intricate sand paintings are then ritualistically destroyed, symbolising the Buddhist belief of impermanence. The purpose of the exercise is to teach the monks of the importance of letting go of earthly attachment; to remind themselves that the second they put an action out into the world, they no longer own it, and need to let it go without resistance. The destruction of the mandala they spent days making helps them to appreciate the act of creation without attachment to the outcome. (FWIW I am a lonnnnng way off reaching sand mandala levels of enlightenment. This little Fool still has far to go, lol. Just check out my Tarot deck collection! I AM VERY ATTATCHED TO MATERIAL STUFF (But at least I’m on the journey – thanks Tarot 💙)).

Interestingly, Jung (whose work is so influential on many modern Tarot decks) defined the mandala as “an instrument of contemplation”, which would lead a viewer away from the chaos of the material world towards the internal world, where one could find stability and peace. Jung believed mandalas to be a good metaphor for the human condition. As we move through our lives, it is all to easy to be caught up in the transitory nature of our relationships, our belongings, our work – and unless we recognise that all these things are fleeting, we believe them to be reality, take them seriously, and continue on at their mercy. If, instead, we journey towards the centre of ourselves, we can come to know who we truly are, distinct from other people’s opinions of us, or the physical trappings of our lives. Once we know ourselves and our own value, we’re much better able to recognise what is worth our time and effort, and what is not. We are also better able to appreciate other people’s struggles to free themselves from the way the world distracts and defines them in turn, and so Jung believed our journey towards self-knowledge also benefits those around us, in terms of increasing our empathy and sympathy. As Joshua Mark explains,

“The Tibetan sand mandala takes this recognition one step further by demonstrating the whole of life in its brief existence. The mandala ends in its own destruction – after it is dismantled, and the area cleaned, there is no trace it ever existed – just as people are born, live, die, and disappear, continuing afterward, on earth anyway, only in the memory of those whose lives they touched.”

And then this Empress, feeding on the nectar of the world, and going forth to pollinate it, is just a beautiful card.

A wonderful Ace of Wands. Ah, that spark, that bright wonderous potential of it, when we are children and feel the world is our oyster and we could be anyone, do anything. It’s just right there waiting for us.

“What does that mean – ‘tame’?”…

“It is an act too often neglected,” said the fox. It means to establish ties.”

“‘To establish ties’?”

“Just that,” said the fox. “To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you, I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world . . .”

“I am beginning to understand,” said the little prince…

“My life is very monotonous,” the fox said. “I hunt chickens; men hunt me. All the chickens are just alike, and all the men are just alike. And, in consequence, I am a little bored. But if you tame me, it will be as if the sun came to shine on my life. I shall know the sound of a step that will be different from all the others. Other steps send me hurrying back underneath the ground. Yours will call me, like music, out of my burrow. And then look: you see the grain-fields down yonder? I do not eat bread. Wheat is of no use to me. The wheat fields have nothing to say to me. And that is sad. But you have hair that is the colour of gold. Think how wonderful that will be when you have tamed me! The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back the thought of you. And I shall love to listen to the wind in the wheat . . .”

The fox gazed at the little prince, for a long time.

“Please – tame me!” he said…

So the little prince tamed the fox. And when the hour of his departure drew near –

“Ah,” said the fox, “I shall cry.”

“It is your own fault,” said the little prince. “I never wished you any sort of harm; but you wanted me to tame you . . .”

“Yes, that is so,” said the fox.

“But now you are going to cry!” said the little prince.

“Yes, that is so,” said the fox.

“Then it has done you no good at all!”

“It has done me good,” said the fox, “because of the colour of the wheat fields.”

There was jam
on the door handle
but I held back the anger
that was beginning to rise

because I thought of the day
when the door handle would be clean
and the little hand
gone away.

‘Sweet Jam’ by Séamus Ó Néill

Here the Ten reminds us that some families encourage their members not just to climb, but to soar, and sometimes even to fly away. That is true grace – to want somebody to grow, even if it means that they might outgrow you.

In this Six of Cups I see the ghosts of our future selves, holding the toys we used to play with with no less joy, no less reverence than when we were young, but with a different kind of wisdom. The whole card had me thinking of ‘À La Recherche du Temps Perdu‘ (like the pretentious wanker I am, lol), and how it relates to the Six of Cups. In the book (which translates into ‘Remembrance of Things Past’ or ‘In Search of Lost Time’ in English) Marcel Proust examines the relationship between an individual’s past and present. The books is bonkers long (I haven’t read all of it!), and incredibly complex, but one of they key themes is that memories are the foundation of an individual’s identity, and that they can help us find meaning in a world marked by change. The central character (thought to be a version of Proust himself) concludes that true meaning and beauty in life come not (just) through living in the moment but through recapturing time via involuntary memory, and expressing it through art. For Proust the famous example of such an involuntary memory is when the taste of a madeleine dipped in tea transports him back to his youth; in Black’s card it’s the sight of a much loved childhood toy. I’ve always found the Six of Cups a bit of a tricky card – sometimes it seems a bit shallow and twee – and Black’s version (plus the meaning I’ve imposed upon it, lol) has helped me appreciate it on a much deeper level.

A really lovely Two of Cups, that reminds us of the deep joy that can come from placing your heart in someone else’s hands, and having them give you theirs in turn. This card reminds me of one of my favourite e.e. cummings poems:

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

I have another deck (The Universal Folk Tarot) where the Page of Cups is depicted as a tea leaf reader, and think it’s a great fit; this page staring into her cup in deep, dreamy introspection in order to plan for her future.

And I adore this Knight of Cups – this is why we love him, even though he’s a bit of a fuckboy. The artless grace, the romance, of letting your steed drink from your upturned hat. He’s so generous with his cups, which is both a blessing and a curse.

I freakin’ love this King of Cups. I feel like the broken cup we can see at the feet of the child in this card is the one from the Five of Cups, and the kid is, understandably, sad. But – OMG you guys – this image has me convinced the King is going to teach his child how to kintsugi it. He’s wise enough to know it’s the cracks and the mends that make a thing beautiful, that show that it has lived – in both our pottery and our hearts.

A beautifully done Ace of Pents. For me, this Ace isn’t about resources definitely coming to you, it’s about the potential for resources to come to you. I find this idea of potential key with all of Tarot. For example, when querents ask me ‘will I find love?’ (and I was guilty of this as a querent too, so no judgement!), my natural response, as a secular reader, is not just idk/the Tarot doesn’t know, but also how could I know? How could some printed cardstock know how the universe is going to shake out? What I do think the Tarot can do, though, is tell you whether you are ready to find love. I think it is capable of bringing to the surface our inner needs and desires, and this can often be illuminating in terms of helping us reconcile what we want with where we’re currently at. And here this Ace of Pents is saying: you have the key to unlock the resources you need. Whether you get up off your ass and use it or not, is down to you.

The Seven of Pents is probably my favourite card in the deck from a purely visual perspective – I just love how evocative it is, the image conjures the raw sweaty muddy smell of it, of a day spent hard at work in the garden. Looking at what you’ve achieved as the sun starts to go down, wondering if it will come to fruition. And the little details: the pent as a logo on her wellie boot – perfection.

The Nine of Pents is traditionally a very feminine card, but I like the gender flip here. An old fashioned caravan as the perfect little compact home; all you need: just you, and your pipe, and the stars. Bliss.

An intricately detailed Page of Pents that really demonstrates the beauty of knowledge and how it feels to fall in love with learning; and the Knight of Pents as a bee keeper is just perfect. To be an apiarist you need all the attributes possessed by this knight: patience, steadfastness, confidence, calmness. It’s important to let the bees sense your gentleness, your good intentions. It takes a long time. But the victory at the end is as sweet as honey.

I love this Queen of Pents, her hands warm and dusted with flour, teaching the next generation how to be Queen of Heart and Hearth (and I adore the Pent trim on her chef’s hat).

Readers of this blog will know that I am a big fan of the Ace of Swords as the Lady of the Lake, offering her sword of insight to a worthy contender (though I can’t help think of Monty Python: ‘You can’t expect to wield supreme executive power just ’cause some watery tart threw a sword at you!’ 😂).

Although the Three of Swords is traditionally thought of as ‘heartbreak / sorrow’, given the overall theme of the Swords suit, I’ve often linked the card to the Buddhist idea of the ‘sorrow of attachment’ (duḥkha/taṇhā) – and this seems especially apt here, given there’s quite a Buddhist vibe running through this deck. We will likely all experience a time when we realise something we thought to be true, particularly when we were young, is wrong/a lie/not a helpful way to view the world (even if this is as minor as realising Father Christmas doesn’t exist and our parents consistently and pathologically LIED to us, lol). But moving on to a new viewpoint is often painful and distressing – learning to go against the grain, and think outside of the box. It is easier to remain in the energy of the Two – stagnant and blindfolded. All of the Threes are about some kind of growth or progress, and I often see the Three of Swords as being about a necessary, but painful, change in mental state. We can see here that the three swords piercing the figure’s heart aren’t real – they exist only in our imagination, the pain that comes from our own mental state.

I like a Five of Swords that really captures the sense of Pyrrhic victory I feel is key to this card (the RWS image and interpretation doesn’t sit that well with me), and this card does a great job of it. Because what you have lost here isn’t a friendship, or an opportunity, it’s a part of yourself – your role as ‘hero’ in the narrative story you spin of your own life. There is no nobility in this kind of victory, no honour. Also, I’m not an art expert, but the positioning of the bull and the matador in this image is just exquisite.

I love a Six of Swords where the figure is walking away from the swords, as they are here, with the pile of swords left on a dune top. Often in this card – as we move from one period of our life to another – the Swords are still depicted as ‘with’ us (i.e. in the RWS they’re still inside the boat alongside us, so even as we move to calmer waters we’re still bringing all our historical metaphorical baggage with us), but here they’re being discarded as the figure makes their way across the desert. Sometimes we have to take all our anxiety and negativity, and the endless ‘what ifs…?’ our thought processes torture us with and just… let them go. Just as the Eight of Cups speaks to walking away from something that has given us emotional satisfaction but has now run its course, so the Six of Swords here can be seen as walking away from ways of thinking that once served a purpose, but have now become counter-productive.

And a gorgeous King of Swords, perhaps contemplating where the sword handed him in the Ace has got him. Is he going to throw it back in the lake from where it arose? This is the Arthur of Avalon now, older, wiser, wearier, but still pure of heart.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

‘Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night’ by Dylan Thomas

This is just an incredibly powerful deck – I think you can tell how much it moved me by the fact I managed to waffle on for 5,000 words – a lot, even by my own loquacious standards! I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend it to anyone who is interested in deepening their Tarot practice, despite the fairly hefty price tag. You can buy it direct from the creator by messaging him via his website or Insta.

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