Saturday, February 11, 2017

Death and The Lovers - My proposed Angelic Tarot

I have been reunited with secondary computer, though primary isn't yet sent off for repairs, I hear there's a blizzard incoming.

So clearly the time has come to talk about tarot cards that don't exist.

I mentioned them in the "Things I need or want" post, these falling firmly on the "want" side of the divide.  Here is what I said:
A tarot deck where the imagery mostly features people with wings (angels if you like) who are fucking poor and just trying to survive.  (Bonus points if "The Lovers" are female-Gabriel and Mary.)
~The Lovers~

So I've already talked about The Lovers, we'll start with that even though when I started this post I'd forgotten I already made reference to the card, and thus planned to start with death.

Rather than try to be historically accurate to what a betrothed woman in first century Judea might look like, we'll be going with modern day stuff.

The card shows Mary and female-Gabriel in Mary's hovel.  Mary's hovel lives down to the name (hovel has "squalid" in the definition, which is unusually evocative as definitions go.)  Her clothes are marred by tears and stains, and she's wearing her jacket inside because the heating is out again.  One assumes she's a young adult.

Gabriel, being an immortal being that doesn't age, is appears about the same age as Mary.

She's God's messenger so she has tattered bike gloves, shoes that were once comfortable for a variety of things motion related things but have seen too much mileage, and a beat up leather messenger bag (that is, the kind of bag that hangs at your side using one strap over the opposite shoulder.)  Her clothes, even her coat, are all light-weight because you never know when the boss is gonna call on her, and when she does she needs to move.  Can't have anything slowing her down.

A bit of trumpet (modern, not heraldic) is poking out of the back of the bag.  The feathers of her wings are shades of blue, they're pulled in rather close as there's not a lot of space in the room.

The two of them stand on opposite sides of the scene, Random crap is on the floor between them because Mary wasn't expecting company.  Even so a smile plays on Mary's lips and the two gaze into each others eyes in a way only evangelicals at college possibly can.


Death is sitting cross legged on the ground, her scythe is propped over her right shoulder with the blade end up and the other end held from sliding forward by her legs.  Obviously it has a grain cradle because death is a very tech forward kind of person.

The ground where she sits is covered in verdant green grass, though a wheat field may or may not be visible a ways behind her.  Either way, the horizon line isn't far above her legs and all background above that is monochromatic blue sky.

Her right wing is at rest, she's scratching the top of her head against her left wing which is outstretched.  Think crow wings for shape and color.  (Don't forget that they're iridescent, there's more than just flat black here.)

Her hands are resting on her legs, her expression is carefree, with the fact that her head itches enough to scratch not registering on her face.

The scene should look peaceful, serene even.  This is Death, after all, it's kind of hard to perturb her.  (In her place, I'd have a nervous breakdown within moments of starting her job.  She manages to be fine, as evidenced by the lack of a zombie apocalypse signifying that she's gone on strike.)

It's a warm day, her arms are bare up to the elbow.  She's wearing jeans and a sturdy shirt.  Consider: she's got a scythe.  She should look like she's ready to do manual labor on a farm.


If I come up with 76 more descriptions I'll have proposed a full deck.

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