Deck Review: The Erenberg Tarot

I seem to be on a bit of a massmarket deck buying spree lately – there have just been so many fab new releases! My heart will always belong to Kickstarter, but it’s such a joy when interesting, layered decks become available at more affordable prices. My latest massmarket acquisition is the Erenberg Tarot by artist and designer Steve Erenberg, and, to the surprise of no one, I’ve got lots to say about it 😂.

The deck is essentially a little lovesong to his bestie, the late Stuart R. Kaplan, founder of U.S. Games. The two spent decades “travelling the world together, exploring every antique shop and flea market along the way.” Erenberg describes them as two avid collectors with different perspectives: he, the artist; Kaplan, the Tarot historian. Erenberg writes that Kaplan “taught [him] about the Tarot through his exuberant passion and impressive knowledge,” and that after Kaplan died, he was inspired to take a closer look at the Tarot, and, eventually, to create this deck. He poignantly concludes the introduction to the guidebook by saying he “wishes [his friend] Stuart was here to see [it].”

Erenberg’s professional background spans architecture, design, and decades spent working in advertising, and I think all of that shows in the bold aesthetic of the Erenberg Tarot. The cards have a sock-you-in-the-face quality: vivid, high-impact, and hard to forget. Erenberg himself has described the style as “like vintage poster art,” and that feels exactly right: there’s a graphic punch to these images, the kind of visual clarity you’d expect from someone trained, as an advertiser, to grab your attention at a glance.

The artwork (and the hand drawn font used for the card titles) also reminds me a little of children’s book illustrations, especially the work of Nicola Bayley, whose delicate-yet-dramatic style I LOVED as a kid. There’s a similar sense of wonder and stylised whimsy here, mixed with the clean lines and confidence of a seasoned visual communicator.

The basic premise of the Erenberg Tarot is that each card is a kind of ‘zoomed in’ version of, or riff on, a detail from the RWS. As Thomas Witholt at the Hermit’s Mirror puts it “an homage, but not a literal reproduction.” The deck therefore has a very traditional feel, with a distinctly 70s vibe that reminds me of classics like the Morgan Greer and the Aquarian Tarot. Its close-up POV also reminds me a bit of the Out Of Hand Tarot, my beloved. It has that same sense of immediacy, intimacy, and being right there in the scene with the figures. It’s familiar, but not derivative; nostalgic, but fresh.

A profile I read on Erenberg describes him as “a collector/dealer whose curiosity led him through numerous collecting categories in his free time.” As a fellow collector I love this, and I think you can see that hunter/gatherer vibe in his card designs. Like me, he has a magpie’s skill for spotting the shiny bits. The little, sometimes overlooked, treasures in the RWS that catch a collector’s eye. And it’s these bits that he brings to the fore in his cards. It’s like he’s rooted around in the RWS as if it’s a giant flea market of symbolism, and now he presents us with these 78 quirky trinkets for our delight.

Because I am a little maniac (and what better way to procrastinate from doing my professional research than to do some hobby research 😂), I started reading everything I could find on the internet about Erenberg, and discovered he’s had a life-long interest in dolls, knockdown dolls in particular. His love affair with them began when he was fourteen, and worked for a summer at his great aunt’s Coney Island ball-toss stall, where three throws cost a quarter and glory was cheap. He spent his days lining up the dolls, again and again.

Years later, working as an antique dealer, Erenberg began collecting and researching those same odd little figures, only to discover they weren’t just kitsch carnival leftovers, but a kind of primitive or outsider art with a long and surprisingly rich history. These strange, expressive characters have been appearing for centuries. They’re meant to be seen together, side by side in rows, just like they were positioned on a fairground stall.

And that, to me, feels very in tune with the logic of Tarot: a sequence of figures and symbols, laid out in a line, telling a story together. A spread is a kind of sideshow too: a quick glimpse of something uncanny and delightful, with the Fool wandering through the tents on his journey towards enlightenment.

Thanks to Erenberg’s observations, I then started thinking about both knockdown dolls and Tarot as outsider art. Outsider art (also known as art brut, or ‘raw art’) refers to creative work made outside the traditional boundaries of the mainstream art world, often by self-taught artists, people with no formal training, or those working from the margins of society (including psychiatric patients, prisoners, and spiritual visionaries). It’s art that isn’t trying to be art in the conventional sense. Instead it’s often intensely personal and intuitive, created without concern for trends or commercial appeal. In some ways Tarot shares a similar lineage: often handmade, passed from reader to reader, drawing on a mix of folklore, mysticism, and bricolaged symbolism.

I get the vibe that the figures in Erenberg’s deck are like those knock down dolls he once lined up for his aunt’s stall. The characters we find on the cards are whimsical, cartoonish, and a little bit Extra – almost pastiche-like in places, with their uniform Barbie blond/e hair and china blue eyes. Thinking of knock down dolls as outsider art reframes them – not just as carnival curiosities, but as potent little archetypes: folk-pop relics that carry a weird, resilient magic all of their own.

And what is Tarot, if not a collection of such archetypes, each one waiting to be knocked down, picked up, and seen anew?

The Deck: Look, Feel, and Finish

The deck comes in a well-made lidded box, which contains the 78 cards plus a small, paperback, black&white guidebook written by Karen Boginski (which includes Erenberg’s intro to the deck). The cards are standard Tarot card size, and are reasonably sturdy, but still flexible, with a not-too-slippery-to-be-annoying amount of slip. The card backs are an attractive harlequin design (which adds to the funfair vibes), though I’m not the biggest fan of the white borders here.

Erenberg writes that in Pamela Colman Smith‘s Tarot art, “you are a viewer looking inward towards the scenes”. He, on the other hand, wanted to “turn that around and have the subjects in the cards looking back, inviting the reader to take this journey along with them”. The art style and design philosophy both made me think about Photovoice – a participatory visual method used in the social sciences that invites people to document and reflect on their lived experiences through photography. It’s often used to amplify voices that might otherwise go unheard, offering an alternative way to communicate knowledge that doesn’t rely on academic jargon or traditional, hierarchical forms of research. At its heart, Photovoice asks research participants: If you could show me one image that captures your experience, what would it be?

And that’s exactly the vibe I get from Erenberg’s deck. It’s almost like he’s gone to each of the figures in the RWS Tarot and asked them: what’s your story? Not the symbolic shorthand or the accepted canon, but your version. If you could show me just one moment, one image that encapsulates what you have to say, what would it be?

There’s something deeply democratic and a little subversive in that approach. It reframes the cards not as fixed symbols, but as voices – outsider voices, even – that deserve to speak in their own strange, singular way. Outsider art ftw!

That said, a few cards do deviate from this core concept. Most notably the Tower, though the publisher US Games quotes Erenberg as explaining that this was a deliberate choice, as the Tower is “a disaster he didn’t want to get close to.” Fair enough!

Likewise, I find the celestial cards (Star, Moon, Sun) a bit out of step with the deck’s central ‘if you could show me one thing…‘ vibe. And I couldn’t help but notice that the (admittedly very beautiful) Moon card is almost identical to a mural Erenberg painted for a local coffee shop near where he lives. So while the deck is often conceptually tight, it does sometimes prioritise visual impact over internal consistency.

Greatest Hits: My Favourite Cards from the Erenberg Tarot

The Lovers card in this deck zooms in on the clasped hands of the couple, foregrounding connection – but what really grabs me is the inclusion of the Tree of Knowledge (also known as the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil… AKA everything) behind the human hands, complete with apples and the iconic twisting serpent. This imagery evokes all the classic connotations of the Fall: loss of innocence, pain, misery, death &c.

But beyond that tired old narrative, the symbolism here also points to something richer: the value of knowledge, the importance of free will, and, above all, choice – the central message of the Lovers card. It’s only through eating the apple of Knowledge that humanity gained the ability to choose. The apple gave us freedom from divine will; Eve’s bite was our first step towards autonomy. Framed this way, her act isn’t a fall from grace, instead it’s the first spark of self-actualisation. Some religious scholars (especially within Jewish traditions) even suggest that the story of Eve and the serpent shows us, right from the start, that seeking truth often means questioning authority.

So I love that this card centres on that moment. The clasped hands of the Lovers aren’t just romantic, they’re rebellious. They’re worth the Fall.

The World card chooses to focus on the feet of the traditional ‘cosmic dancer’ – and here she’s a ballet dancer. And that choice speaks volumes. Ballet, after all, demands relentless training: hours upon hours of discipline, pushing the body to its limits, often until the toes are bruised and bloodied. What appears on stage as effortless grace is the result of years of gruelling training and tireless dedication.

It’s a perfect parallel to the journey through the Major Arcana. Reaching The World isn’t easy; it’s a long, hard slog that leaves us changed, marked, maybe even a little battered. But when we arrive, we move with a new kind of fluency. A mastery. The end result is poetry in motion – hard-won, but radiant.

According to the guidebook, the Two of Cups in this deck brings in the lion from the Strength card as a deliberate nod to the idea of strength in union. It’s a beautiful touch. Emotional connection, after all, can make us feel like we can take on the world. But there’s more to it than that, IMO. Just as Strength is about integrating the different parts of the self (the maiden and the beast), the Two of Cups speaks to a similar alchemy between people. It’s not just about partnership or romance; it’s about two individuals coming together to create something greater than the sum of their parts. A union that empowers, harmonises, and transforms.

The Four of Cups focuses very much on the refusal at the heart of the card. The guidebook encourages a more pointed self-inquiry than the traditional RWS might: “Are we being too self-absorbed? Are we missing opportunities because of it?” The close-up point of view highlights the stark immediacy of the moment, and the quiet nudge to look inward and ask: what am I turning away from, and why?

In my review of the Black Tarot, I went off on a long and slightly wanky meander about the Six of Cups, Proust, and the evocative power of smell – and I love that Erenberg’s version of the card zeroes in on that exact sensation. The figure here looks as if she’s inhaling the scent of the flowers nestled in the traditional RWS cup, lost in a moment of memory.

Of all the senses, smell is uniquely tied to nostalgia. In addition, academic studies have shown that the link between smell and (emotional) memory is especially strong for experiences from our earliest years – roughly the first decade of life. Which feels beautifully fitting for the Six of Cups, with its focus on childhood and innocence. A single whiff of sun-warmed plastic (a My Little Pony left on the windowsill) can throw us back to our childhood bedroom; the scent of freshly cut grass and hot tarmac and suddenly we’re back in our primary school playground, playing hopscotch and dodging wasps. The stomach wrenching scent of our first love’s perfume, and suddenly we’re 15 again. Smell bypasses rational thought and goes straight to the gut, stirring up emotions and memories we didn’t know were still waiting for us.

This card captures that perfectly. It reminds us that the past is never as far away as we think, and that, sometimes, all it takes to return is a single breath.

The Seven of Cups really draws our attention to the mysterious, half-revealed items in the cups of the original RWS. It pushes us to pause and really consider what they might represent: the crown upon the skull (ambition and fleeting glory), the snake (temptation, knowledge, transformation), the castle (security), the riches (material wealth and desire). In the traditional card, each cup holds a different fantasy, fear, or distraction, offering a dazzling (and slightly overwhelming) array of options. But here, instead of many cups, we’re shown just one – yet it still holds the weight of many choices. It’s a clever visual twist that asks: when all possibilities seem contained in a single path, how do we discern illusion from truth? What are we really reaching for?

The Four of Pents is one of the cards where Erenberg chooses to riff rather than zoom. Here, the pentacle that traditionally hovers above the figure’s head has been transformed into a literal ball and chain around his ankle. It’s a striking reinterpretation that drives home the card’s themes: being trapped by greed and material desire, the danger of hoarding, and the stagnation that comes with refusing to let go. After all, a golden shackle is still a shackle – and even things that sustain us can become a form of imprisonment if we cling to them too tightly.

The Eight of Pents emphasies the skill and dedication involved in the accomplishment that this card speaks to, with its sharp focus on the ‘tools of the trade’. But it also nods to the card’s shadow. The inclusion of a lamp quite literally ‘burning the midnight oil’ reminds us that hard work often comes at a cost. Yes, diligence can be its own reward, and yes, it can lead to real, material success. But it’s also worth asking: what are we giving up to get there? The card gently invites us to consider the balance – between ambition and rest, effort and sacrifice.

The Five of Swords is particularly intriguing in this deck, because it’s not immediately clear what we’re witnessing. Are the two figures locked in a struggle for dominance, or is one hand clasping the other’s wrist in a gentle warning? The ambiguity is the point – it invites us to pause and consider: Are you sure you want to do this? Are you sure you want to win at any cost?

Some choices can’t be undone. Once you say those words, once you make that cut, you can’t take it back. This card urges us to stop. Breathe. Think. Not every victory is worth the price it demands.

I’m always a fan of a Knight of Swords that leans fully into the courtly, medieval vibe – the idealistic warrior of days of yore. And this one delivers. Here he is, kneeling before you, ready to fight for truth, justice, and whatever noble cause calls to him. But note how the horse forming the pommel of his sword looks like a chess piece. It’s a subtle detail that speaks volumes. This Knight doesn’t just charge in with brute force, he fights with strategy and intellect. His weapons are not only steel, but logic, language, and sharp, reasoned thought.

The Knight of Wands, on the other hand, captures the barely contained energy at the heart of this card. The horse looks like it’s seconds away from bolting: muscles taut, eyes wild, all coiled momentum and burning instinct. This Knight is all fire: passion, charisma, and raw drive. He charges forward with dazzling speed and fearless enthusiasm.

But fire, as we know, doesn’t always stay where you put it. That same energy that fuels his ambition can also lead to recklessness and burnout. The Knight of Wands reminds us that while momentum can be thrilling, it needs to be controlled and directed. Otherwise, the wildfire risks consuming everything in its path, including the Knight himself.

The Five of Wands is another fascinating card in this deck. The two figures are making eye contact in a way that suggests they genuinely ‘see eye to eye’. There’s connection there, maybe even camaraderie. And yet, between them stands the wand: a hot spark of ambition that slices the image almost like a split screen. It’s a powerful visual metaphor for the fine line this card so often explores, the one between friendly rivalry that helps us hone our talents and festering resentment that wastes our energy.

This card asks us: when competition arises, can we stay grounded in mutual respect? Or will ego tip us over the edge? It’s about knowing how to channel that fire without letting it burn the bridge between us.

‘Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet,
Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God’s great Judgment Seat;
But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth,
When two strong men stand face to face though they come from the ends of the earth!’

From ‘The Ballad of East and West’ by Rudyard Kipling

I love that the Eight of Wands reimagines one of the traditional airborne wands as an arrow loosed from a bow. It’s a simple but powerful shift – it puts you in charge of the speed and direction this card implies. You’re not just passively watching things accelerate; you’re the one making it happen. There’s momentum in the original RWS card, but here in Erenberg’s deck it’s intentional. You aimed. You fired.

That small change captures something I think this whole deck does beautifully: it puts the reader back at the heart of the story. It reminds us that we’re not just recipients of fate, we’re participants in it. And when the moment comes, it’s our hand on the bowstring.

The Seven of Wands in this deck draws our eye straight to the figure’s mismatched shoes: one a full boot, the other a laced slipper. It’s a detail often overlooked in the RWS, but absolutely deliberate. This visual quirk speaks to the card’s core tension: a figure caught in the act of defence, perhaps rushing into conflict unprepared, or clinging to their position with grit rather than grace. It’s often read as a symbol of messy determination – which why I always think of this as the activist card, and why it’s my (equal) favourite Tarot card. It’s about fighting on because you know you’re in the right, you know you have the (moral) high ground – even when you feel off-balance, dishevelled, or a little out of your depth.

But there’s also rich shadow work in Pamela Colman Smith’s allegory. Considering Smith was a set designer, and popped a lot of theatrical easter eggs into her cards, some readers and scholars believe the mismatched footwear is a direct reference to Shakespeare’s Petruchio in The Taming of the Shrew, who turns up to his own wedding “in a new hat and an old jerkin… a pair of boots that have been candle-cases, one buckled, another laced.” This is not just a theatrical flourish: Petruchio, like the figure in the Seven of Wands, arrives under-dressed but overconfident – unyielding and ready to assert dominance over his new bride at all costs.

In this light, we might read the card not as noble resistance, but as bluster – a performance of righteousness masking insecurity or control. Someone taking the high ground, yes, but perhaps only to shout louder. As with so much in Tarot, the intention matters. Is this a brave stand, or a needlessly defensive power play? Erenberg, like Smith before him, leaves it open – but the shoes suggest we should look more closely.

This is the hard, patient work of peace. A subtle transfiguration: the Knight not as an instrument of war, but as a steward of the land, a builder of futures. And honestly? That feels like true strength to me.

I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,
who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,
who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,
who do what has to be done, again and again.

I want to be with people who submerge
in the task, who go into the fields to harvest
and work in a row and pass the bags along,
who are not parlor generals and field deserters
but move in a common rhythm
when the food must come in or the fire be put out.

From ‘To Be Of Use’ by Marge Piercy

The Erenberg Tarot is a smart, thoughtful deck that could work for a beginner, but really shines in the hands of someone who already knows the basics and wants to dig deeper into the details. I also think it’s a great deck for looking into a question in more depth – especially if you’re looking to clarify something like, what should I focus on right now? It invites us not just to interpret the cards, but to enter into conversation with them – and a very enjoyable conversation at that! You can get it from most major online retailers, as well as some indie outlets, for around £20.

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