Unveiling the Mystery: Pamela Colman Smith – The Enigmatic Artist and Muse

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I’m currently working with the fab Pixie’s Marseille Tarot – a deck by Alejandro R. Rozan that reimagines the Tarot de Marseille through the artistic vision of Rider-Waite-Smith illustrator Pamela “Pixie” Colman Smith. In the guidebook, Tarot reader Chris Onareo notes that we’re currently experiencing “somewhat of a Pixie renaissance”, with the enormous popularity of Tarot bringing renewed interest in the woman behind some of its most iconic images.

Naturally, this sent my little magpie brain off on a 2,500-word Pixie diversion 😂, like an over-excited Pomeranian off in pursuit of a stick. And at some point I realised it probably worked better as a standalone post than forcing people who’d come for a deck review to wade through my potted history of Edwardian art before I let them look at the pretty Tarot cards.

So here it is! Because the more I read about Smith, the more interesting she became. Artist, illustrator, storyteller, publisher, suffragist, feminist, occultist, Catholic convert, bohemian oddball – the woman who created the visual language of the world’s most famous Tarot deck had a whole artistic life before Waite ever asked her to draw a card. And understanding a little more about that life also gives us a different way of looking at the RWS itself.

So, who was “Pixie”?

Corinne Pamela Colman Smith was born on 16 February 1878 in Pimlico, London (it’s one of those gorgeous big white stucco terraces – fancy!) to American parents. She had a fairly peripatetic childhood, moving between London, Manchester, New York, and Kingston, Jamaica (where her father had a job extending the Jamaican railroad system). That time in Jamaica would have a lasting influence on her work, particularly her fascination with Jamaican folklore and storytelling.

Something of an artistic child prodigy, Smith enrolled at the Pratt Institute in Brooklyn at just 15 years old. It was here that she became interested in Japanese woodblock printmaking, which remained an important influence on her illustration style. In 1896, however, Smith left art school without completing her degree and returned to Jamaica to care for her dying mother. While there, she took a job in a kindergarten, where she began making miniature theatres so that she and her students could bring folk stories to life. (My great-grandma was a school teacher, and she used to make the most glorious papier-mâché puppets for exactly the same reason!) That early combination of art, theatre, and storytelling would remain central to Smith’s work. She later wrote, “the stage is a great school – or should be – to the illustrator, as well as to others. The stage has taught me all I know of clothes, of action, and of pictorial gestures.”

She returned to England in the late 1890s where she toured with the Lyceum Theatre company working as a costume and set designer (hence all the Shakespeare easter eggs in the RWS). She quickly became part of London’s bohemian artistic and theatrical circles. The actors Ellen Terry – who allegedly was the one to coin the nickname “Pixie” – and Henry Irving, as well as Bram Stoker of Dracula fame, all took her under their wing, while her wider circle included the poet William Butler Yeats and his artist brother Jack, and she attended soirées with musicians like Debussy. (I am jealous of her cool friends 😂 I can’t tell you how much I just want to run a salon and make interesting cocktails for gifted hipsters while we all get slowly wasted. It is exactly the kind of pretentious wank I thought I’d get to enjoy as an academic, but, alas, it’s all grant deadlines and arguing about how to interpret the fine print of the REF in a sterile white box-office with no windows. Though perhaps I’m romanticising it – never meet your heroes & c. – for when Smith first met Yeats she described him as a “rummy critter” who “seemed most stupid and had on a tea party air and posed about and looked bored” 😂😂 (in other words: a pretentious knob). It was only after his “ermine collar[ed]” posh fangirls had finished fawning over his poetry – “which they had probably never [even] read or heard of” – and left the party that he started talking about Irish folktales and then reciting a folksong, at which point Smith revised her verdict: he became “splendid”!)

It was Yeats who introduced her to the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn – and, therefore, to our pal Waite. Waite’s biographer, R. A. Gilbert, described the Golden Dawn as a “society of would-be magicians”, dedicated to helping its members know themselves through ceremonial magic. And it’s not difficult to see how that fitted with Smith’s general manic-pixie-dream-girl ethos!

Her years in Jamaica fed directly into the persona Smith cultivated in bohemian London. She wrote and performed Jamaican folk tales in patois, dressing in colourful robes and jewellery and creating elaborately theatrical surroundings for her storytelling salons.

Dear Stieglitz,

I have just completed a significant project for very little compensation! It’s true that I was paid a modest flat rate for what would go on to become one of the most influential pieces of commercial artwork of the twentieth century. At the time, a single deck from Rider & Son sold for five shillings, equivalent to the standard weekly rate of the newly introduced state pension.

Despite being omitted from the Rider-Waite deck, my name is still present in the form of my distinctive PCS monogram on every card except the Fool. This monogram, resembling a caduceus, consists of the P forming a snake-entwined staff overlaid by the C and S.

I have expressed my frustrations over the years about being overlooked, but in all fairness, I may not have been the most business-savvy individual. It seems that I was a talented yet scatterbrained creative, lacking in practical skills. Even Jack Butler Yeats complained about my laziness and disorganization. Unfortunately, the lack of credit given to artists and creatives for commissioned work is a common issue that persists to this day.

Looking back, I realize that receiving a flat-rate commission was a more secure financial decision at the time than opting for royalties, which would have been uncertain given the unpredictable success of Waite’s Tarot project. It may seem like a missed opportunity now, considering how iconic the RWS images have become.

I must clarify that the creation of the RWS deck was not solely my doing. Some suggest that I was already transitioning to Catholicism while working on the deck, viewing it more as a job opportunity rather than a spiritual endeavor. It’s easy to romanticize the creation of the RWS as a culmination of my occult interests, but in reality, it was a practical job offer during a financially challenging time.

Following the publication of the RWS, I gradually became more isolated. By 1914, I had distanced myself from social interactions and sentimental possessions. The contrast between my impoverished death in 1951 and the enduring legacy of my art is indeed a somber reflection of my life.

However, I want to challenge the narrative of me dying in destitution. In my later years, I resided in a comfortable flat in Bude’s Bencoolen House, a building that by modern standards is quite luxurious. While I faced financial struggles, my living conditions were not as dire as commonly portrayed.

In conclusion, my life was marked by artistic contributions that continue to resonate today, despite the challenges and hardships I faced. I hope this sheds light on the complexities of my story and the enduring impact of my work.

Sincerely,
[Your Name] Pamela Colman Smith faced financial challenges during her lifetime, often struggling to maintain her household and cover expenses. Despite owning a house, two acres of land, poultry, and other assets, she frequently found herself in need of money to sustain her lifestyle. While she did accumulate debt and her possessions were auctioned off after her death to settle unpaid income tax bills, it is important to note that she did receive regular remittances from a trust fund in New York. However, her spending exceeded her income, leading to financial insecurity and insolvency.

Smith’s contributions to Tarot were overlooked for a significant period, despite the widespread use of the images she created. It is regrettable that she did not live comfortably in her later years, considering the revenue she generated for the Rider company. Projects like Pixie’s Marseille Tarot are now helping to highlight Smith’s artistic legacy and bring her back into the spotlight.

In one of her quotes, Smith emphasized the importance of focusing on the beauty and potential within individuals, even in the midst of challenging circumstances. She encouraged seeing beyond outward appearances and recognizing the inner strength and power that each person possesses.

Despite the challenges she faced, Pamela Colman Smith’s artistic contributions have left a lasting impact on the world of Tarot. Projects and publications continue to shed light on her life and work, ensuring that she is remembered for more than just the decks she illustrated.

For more information on Pamela Colman Smith’s life and legacy, references such as Autostraddle, Camera Work, and various books provide valuable insights and perspectives. Additionally, ongoing efforts to reexamine and celebrate Smith’s artistic achievements are helping to revive interest in her unique talents and contributions. “Can you please help me with this task?”

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