Deck Review: The Bon Sequitur Tarot Deck

Just look at this bright little bundle of joy!

If the Bon Sequitur deck was music, it would be acid jazz: playful yet unexpectedly profound. And I knew the moment I saw it that I had to get my little (jazz) hands on it. Make no mistake, despite the exuberant, fun style and colours, this is not a lightweight (nor even particularly gentle) deck – it definitely doesn’t pull its punches.

The Bon Sequitur was created by graphic artist and printmaker Zephyr Pfotenhauer in the aftermath of her husband’s sudden death. She describes the process of making the deck as a way to “build another life from the rubble of the old: piece by piece, card after card.” Drawing was essential to her design career, but grief had stripped away her desire to make art. “I started drawing the cards six months after Ben’s death,” she writes, “and doing so helped me slowly return to the land of the living and to my own creative practice.” I think a lot of that depth of feeling – grief and all its accoutrements, the painful yet also joyous learning that comes with it – has found its way into this deck. There’s real insight and wisdom here, albeit disguised in pop art clothing. As Tarot so often invites us to reconcile opposites within ourselves, I love it when a deck is meta like this, and performs that reconciliation in its very bones. The Bon Sequitur is fun, yes. But it’s also serious. And it knows more than it lets on.

I came across the below photo in an interview with the artist, and I am obsessed with how perfectly it captures the idea of reclaiming pleasure and colour in a world hollowed-out and made grey by grief; a theme I sense throughout this deck. The image really struck me, especially because the Queen of Cups was one of the cards in this deck that stood out for me right away, long before I saw this photo. Here’s a snap I took of her on unboxing day, a couple of months ago now. I sent it to my friend who has the Queen of Cups as her signifier card. She’s thinking about getting a QoC tattoo, so whenever I see a particularly good looking version, I send it her way for inspiration. And this is one good-looking Queen!

The deck was hand-drawn on an iPad and then silkscreen printing was used. This method restricts the colour palette somewhat, and so all the cards are layers of cyan, yellow, magenta, and black (CMYK – I have now learned the art lingo!) I say ‘restricts’, but I actually think this gives a really great consistency to the deck when you’re working with it. The title, Bon Sequitur, refers “punnily, to the non-sequential nature of the Tarot, its randomness by design – a good thing”.

“The Tarot is often spoken of as a journey, though usually as a progressive track that starts with the Fool and completes with the World, then an Ace that becomes a King, circling back to begin again. But our lives are not linear. Our growth is rhizomatic, connective, abortive. The cards work as a divination because their symbols tap the inchoate morass of imagery and ascribed meaning that we all carry within us. What surfaces is what needs attention. It’s not magic, or we are all magic. It is both and.”

Zephyr Pfotenhauer

The Deck: Look, Feel, and Finish

First things first: this deck smells amazing! Delicious perfumed tissue paper packing for the win 🙌. It comes in a sturdy lidded box and consists of 81 cards – the standard 78, plus an extra Strength card (it’s split into Fortitude and Courage), and two special cards. The cardstock is fairly slippy and fairly lightweight, but good quality (and shuffles well). The cards are a pretty unique shape – smallish and square (3.5 inches), which also adds to the ease of shuffling. There’s a small paper guidebook which gives an intro to the deck and a brief description of each card’s meaning, plus a few colour prints (Ace of each suit).

Also: obligatory Hierophant typo warning!

And: once again I had been doing DIY right before Tarot, so sorry for the state of my thumbnail 😳.

Greatest Hits: My Favourite Cards from the Bon Sequitur Tarot

I love this carefree, confident Fool, and all the gorgeous little details in the card – particularly the 0 cleverly hidden in the sun. Lots of the Majors do this: incorporate the card’s number into the central image in a creative, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kind of way. The XIII in Death, for example, has become the detailings on a skeleton’s ribcage; the XIV in Temperance has become the angel’s ankle tattoo. It’s playful, thoughtful design work, and a real treat for detail lovers. This kind of layered visual cleverness feels very much the product of someone whose design practice is second nature – someone with years of experience in the industry, who knows exactly how to hide meaning in plain sight. It’s one of the things I find most compelling about Pfotenhauer’s deck: how it rewards looking closely, not just visually but emotionally too. In that sense, it feels very much in the legacy of Pamela Colman Smith, who was herself a professional illustrator and theatrical set designer, and filled the RWS deck with little easter eggs and symbolic detail. The Bon Sequitur deck picks up that tradition, and runs with it in its own vibrant, idiosyncratic way.

The all-seeing eye of Judgement brings to mind my favourite Biblically accurate angels theme, though what I like best about this card is how ready for their destiny the central figure is. Arms open, face lifted, absolutely radiating Bring It On energy. No fear, no hesitation. Just that deep, joyful readiness to step into whatever comes next. It’s Judgement as acceptance, not anxiety.

The baby in the womb as the centre of the World card (in place of the traditional cosmic dancer) works well. I know Pfotenhauer said she’s not a fan of cycles, but this still feels beautifully cyclical to me: the return to the egg, the spiral of the umbilical cord, the quiet gravity of beginnings and endings folded into each other. The guidebook speaks of “Big Bang to final push to last wish to earth-return” – so poetic! I also love the use of actual zodiac constellations (instead of the symbolic animals etc.) around the card’s edge. It adds to the cosmic scale of the card while keeping it grounded in our stars.

I really love the Ace of Swords here, which presents the suit’s core symbol ‘as’ tattoos. It’s such a clever visual metaphor. The insight of the Swords suit is hard-won, like the kind of lessons life etches on our body. Some we choose (tattoos), some we don’t (scars), but all of them mark us.

The words on the central figure’s tattoo read ‘le vent nous portera‘: ‘the wind will carry us’. It’s such a perfect choice: the Swords are the suit of air, and wind is one of its most common symbols. I fell down a bit of a rabbithole with where this phrase comes from. It sounds ancient, but it’s actually not. It seems like it was used first in a poem by the Iranian poet Forough Farrokhzad in the 1950s (it’s a fairly unsettling poem about danger in the night, written during a time of political unrest in Iran). More latterly, it’s been used as the title of an Iranian film by Abbas Kiarostami and a song by the French band Noir Desir (who sing: tout disparaîtra, mais le vent nous portera – everything will disappear, but the wind will carry us).

And that, too, feels very Swords: the quiet confidence that comes from trusting your instincts, your intellect, your capacity to carry on – and be carried – even through loss or endings. There’s something here about the continuity of the soul, the inevitability of death, and the strange safety of knowing that, ultimately, you’ll be moved where you need to go. This is what I was talking about when I said earlier that I could feel Pfotenhauer’s own experience with grief running through this deck. This kind of symbolism doesn’t come from theory alone; it comes from living it, from having survived the storm and somehow found beauty in the aftermath. I was also so surprised the phrase isn’t older (I was thinking at least Ancient Greek!), that I see it as a kind of pareidolia (paleopareidolia?): the illusion that a new phrase or object is ancient, because it echoes deep symbolic forms. I am now officially a big fan of this phrase 👍.

The guidebook urges us to “be surgical with your intent: set course for true north, find your horizon and stay! on! point!” – and I think that’s the heart of this card. That kind of honed, intuitive trust in your own insight and direction is what the Ace of Swords is all about.

Beautiful Four of Swords – with her bloodied knees and one foot still resting on the ground, we very much get a sense that this is merely a temporary respite from the fray. Despite the presence of the hammock, what’s happening here is not passive resting, it’s intentional. A strategic withdrawal. And at some point we will have to step back in.  But as the guidebook assures us, “it will be here, it will all still be here. Be still.”

The Eight of Wands here is a very visually arresting card; I really like the emphasis it places on you as the source of momentum. Not just someone caught in a whirlwind of events, but the one who set things in motion. In this version, you are the wand-thrower. Pfotenhauer writes, “many things are in motion: your aim may be off, but they’ll still find their flow.” It’s a reminder that movement doesn’t have to be perfect to be powerful – once you’ve launched your intentions, the current will carry them where they need to go.

OMG, the Three of Cups as three gossipy old ladies enjoying their jacuzzi is just delightful. The comfort of familiar, old friendship. The guidebook urges us to “make, take joy together. Soak in it, soak it in”.

The Ten of Cups continues the watery, pleasure-soaked theme. There’s such a strong sense here of sinking down into deep contentment, like a warm bath at the end of a hard day, just your toes poking out above the surface. Pfotenhauer explains that in the energy of this card, we are “held by water, made of water, warmed by water, slaked and quenched and cooled in turn.” It’s not just happiness we see in this Ten of Cups, it’s embodied joy, the kind that soaks through your skin and stays.

The Cups court cards in this deck are gorgeous. First we have this Page of Cups with his cycle of fish leaping to and from his bucket/cup. Pages are often linked to communication, and for me, this one speaks to the way we give and receive ideas from the world around us. Our interior lives don’t grow rich in isolation; they’re nourished by the poetry, art, stories, and emotional truths shared by others. Reflection is vital, yes, but so is receptivity. The guidebook puts it beautifully: “you were born swimming, listen to what the fishes know”.

The Knight of Cups here is definitely showing off, as all the Knights like to! Pfotenhauer describes him as “a flirt with possibility, always thirsty, always reaching for a little more… He hides his wounds by baring all”. It’s such a perfect encapsulation of that seductive yet showy energy this card so often carries. The Knight isn’t afraid to wear his heart on his sleeve but sometimes it’s a kind of curated vulnerability. He charms, he pines, he performs romance like it’s an art form. And, yet, somehow, it is. I have such a love/hate thing going on with the Knight of Cups card and I think this version really speaks to my messy relationship with him 😂

I’ve spoken about the Queen of Cups already, just stunning. I note, though, that she is covering her cup with her hand, and firstly I was a bit like ‘huh?’ In my head, Queens are nurturers, their figurative cups always open (even when that’s not their suit!) Pfotenhauer writes in the guidebook that the Queen of Cups is “the figurehead of Feeling: sensitive and stubborn, equally quick to love and to hurt, to hide. Fiercely protective of tender things, she’ll bargain with sharks and sailors, be lure and guide”.

This led me down a reflective path about the possible meanings of the covered cup. Looking at the RWS I saw its Queen’s cup is also covered (well, lidded). This is not typical for the Cups (including the rest of the Cups court cards), where most cups are wide open, lifted, or even being poured out. And actually, the RWS’s Queen’s cup isn’t really a cup at all, it’s more like a chalice or ornamental censer. A vessel for holy wisdom as opposed to a cup for casual sipping. For me this implies that her inner emotional life is sacred, mystical – something to be protected, not displayed. When she covers her cup she’s not withholding so much as honouring the sanctity of emotion. And this still chimes with the idea of Queen as nurturer – she doesn’t just feel things, she protects and safeguards them. Her cup is closed like a womb – it’s a container for emotional gestation. She knows how to hold space for others, how to shelter and heal them, without projecting or leaking.

I love this bold and brave Knight of Swords, transfigured here into an armed centaur. There’s something compelling about the way he literally becomes one with his horse, a perfect fusion of mind and body. For this Knight more than any other, the valour of the mounted warrior is a core part of his identity. Here, the swiftness of his steed and the swiftness of his thought and action become indistinguishable. He doesn’t just ride into battle, he is the charge.

Readers of this blog will know that I essentially see the Queen of Swords as a wise old war widow, so I like it when she’s properly old, like she is here. After all, the kind of clear-sighted, no-nonsense wisdom she embodies is rarely given to us in our youth! Pfotenhauer writes: “like the edge she employs, her sharp strength and cutting wit are the result of time in fire and blows received, steeling her with a wisdom that scythes sentimentality and refuses platitudes.” This Queen doesn’t just know better, she’s earned that knowledge. Every scar is a lesson, every boundary a line she drew in blood.

I adore this wild little Knight of Wands, charging full tilt on the world’s fastest animal! Because of course she is! Nothing’s going to hold her back. She wants it NOW, she wants it ALL, and she’ll burn through anything in her way to get it. She’s all impulse and ignition, a matchstick mid-strike.

And then we have the King of Pents as a kind of pantomime dame Julius Caesar, enjoying his (fabulous) cigarette as he surveys his lush Tuscan farm. He’s all abundance, ease, and quietly smug satisfaction. The guidebook calls him “precious, priceless, resplendent” – and, frankly, same.

This is a really quirky, striking deck that reads like a dream. You can buy it from the artist and creator’s website here for $55 (approx. £41), and I genuinely think it’s worth every penny (worth it for the jacuzzi scene alone, frankly 😂).

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