Through the Garden of Symbols: A Journey into Niki de Saint Phalle's Tarot World
“If life is a card game, we are born without knowing its rules. Still, we are expected to play a hand. Is Tarot merely a game—or a philosophy of life?” — Niki de Saint Phalle
I had returned home to Italy during an unusually warm August. Mosquitoes feasted on my legs, leaving me in a constant state of itching. I had nearly forgotten what it felt like to drag my fingernails across damp skin.
I can’t quite remember how I first heard about Niki de Saint Phalle’s whimsical Tarot Garden. What I do remember is being immediately captivated by the sheer scale of this artistic journey. Somehow, it had escaped my notice until then. I had already purchased my tickets and was determined to go, even though the weather forecast warned of heavy storms on the day of my visit. I packed my lunch and prepared for a three-hour drive that would lead me into the heart of the Garden.
Midway through the journey, I realised I had taken the wrong direction. I found myself on a winding road that led into an increasingly desolate landscape. I pulled over and wandered into a patch of woodland.
I felt a presence as if a pair of eyes were watching me from afar. The unpaved road narrowed with each step while the cicadas screamed in the thick summer air. Scattered on the ground were a few discarded cigarette packs. The leaves had tried to conceal them, but the shiny plastic wrappers glinted beneath the foliage. Suddenly, a strong gust of wind swept through, and I caught the scent of approaching rain. I turned back and got into the car. I had to reach the Garden by 1 pm.
As I approached the garden's grand, ornamented gates along the bumpy road, heavy clouds loomed overhead.
“Please, just let me finish my visit—then you can do whatever you want,”
I pleaded to the clouds.
When I stepped out of the car, the temperature had shifted noticeably. The emaciated sky looked mesmerising against the deep green of the vegetation. A small crowd had gathered at the gates, forming a quiet line. I joined them, waiting patiently to enter.
The doors opened, and we all moved forward silently, pilgrims walking uphill along the only visible path. Words were carved into the concrete beneath our feet. Some were encouragements, others warnings—still others, obscure quotes and riddles.
It was not long into the walk when I lifted my head and saw the most bizarre monumental fountain. Two faces crowned the blue structure, their eyes and mouths wide open, gazing down at me. Perhaps those were the very eyes I had felt watching me in the woodland an hour earlier. The surface of their faces glittered with mosaics of glass and mirrors as if coated in a patina of sweat.
Below, a wheeled structure spun endlessly—a system of pumps sent water arcing upward, forming serpentine streams.
The Magus, the High Priestess and the Wheel of Fortune were the first to greet me in this surreal wonderland.
"The Magus: The Great Juggler. To me, the Magus is the card of God—the one who created the wondrous farce of this world. It is the card of active intelligence, of light, of pure energy, of creation and play.
The High Priestess: the great priestess of feminine power and intuition. This intuition is one of the keys that leads to wisdom. She represents the potential of the irrational, the unconscious. Those who attempt to explain everything with logic alone remain on the surface; they cannot pierce the veil of reality.
The Wheel of Fortune: the wheel of life—what rises must inevitably fall. One day, as I wandered through the Garden... Eureka! I had the idea to transform the Wheel of Fortune into a fountain, with water flowing from the mouth of the High Priestess."
Taken from Niki's memoir.
Niki de Saint Phalle was a French artist born in 1930 who spent much of her youth in New York. Between 1979 and 1996, she dedicated herself to creating the Tarot Garden, nestled in a wooded area of Garavicchio in southern Tuscany, Italy. Over nearly two decades, she constructed 22 monumental sculptures inspired by the Major Arcana of the Tarot. Made primarily from reinforced concrete, they are adorned with mosaics composed of mirrors, glass, and ceramics.
“In 1955,” she recalled, “I visited Barcelona and saw Gaudí’s Park Güell for the first time. At that moment, I knew I had discovered my master—and my destiny. I shivered. I knew that one day, I would create my own Garden of Joy. My corner of heaven. A place where man and nature could meet.”
I took a path to my left as the compact crowd began to disperse like ants on the pavement. The Garden offered no hints, no signs to suggest which direction to take or what might lie ahead on one path versus another. The journey—how many of the Major Arcana you would encounter—was entirely up to you or perhaps left to pure chance.
I walked uphill and spotted another gaping face peering out from the bushes. Two dogs stood guard on either side while a red crab delicately balanced a silver moon face above. The Moon is the card of imagination and illusion. The empty spaces within the concrete lines were not voids but frames filled in by the landscape beyond.
I stood before the Moon for a few minutes, then followed a sound that was gradually growing louder. The vegetation, along with the Garden’s varying heights, had done a remarkable job of concealing each structure.
A sphinx with giant breasts lay on the ground like a resting cat. It had drawn a crowd of children, the source of the chatter I had followed. Their laughter echoed through the clearing as many tried to climb onto the sphinx-like form.
I stepped inside and was once again stunned by what I found. It was not just a sculpture—it was a home—the artist’s. Niki de Saint Phalle had chosen to live here while she completed the Garden.
Inside was a fully functioning kitchen with a long table and many chairs, a bathroom, a bedroom, and even a small study. Every surface shimmered, covered in thousands of tiny mirrored tiles that caught the light and fractured it into strange, dancing reflections.
"The Empress is the Great Goddess—Mother, whore, sacred magic, and civilisation. I gave the Empress the form of a sphinx. I lived for years inside this protective Mother. It was the meeting place for all of us working on the project. Here, we gathered to share coffee. And over each of us, the sphinx cast her fatal spell."
Taken from Niki's memoir.
As I stepped out of the Empress, a fat drop of rain landed on my face. I decided to follow a few other visitors seeking shelter beneath what appeared to be a castle. When I ran my hand along its walls, I felt thousands of thorn-like points made of ceramic prick my skin. The castle unfolded around a circular, arched corridor. On the walls were images of violence and blood. The structure represented the Emperor—masculine power, authority, and control.
Hidden behind the arches, I noticed a staircase that led to the upper level of the castle. I followed it and paused on a balcony. From that viewpoint, I could see the olive and cypress trees scattered throughout the Garden. I could take in the entire shape of the castle itself. Many of the structures offered vantage points for the same scene. It suggests that balance can be found by shifting your perspective. What had first felt like an ode to violence now appeared serene. Mentally and physically, I was above it all.
Looking down, I noticed a narrow path leading to a less crowded area. I left the castle to explore further.
The rain had intensified every scent. I was taking it all in, one deep breath at a time.
I came across two strange figures, statues representing the Hermit and the Prophetess. Both statues were hollow inside, allowing you to step in and see yourself reflected in the myriad of glass shards covering their surfaces.
The Garden had a strange charm. It was full of people, yet it felt as though I were completely alone.
I stepped inside the Prophetess. The reinforced concrete muffled all outside sounds. The only thing I could hear was my breathing.
I closed my eyes and sat down on a small protrusion within the statue.
The truth is found within—that was the message of the Prophetess and the Hermit. They forced you to remain in your presence, to sit with yourself. I heard fleeting footsteps approaching and then, upon sensing me there, quickly rushed away. I was grateful that people could recognise the sacredness of a silent moment.
"This garden was made with difficulty, with love, with solitude, with wild enthusiasm, with obsession, and more than anything else, with faith." — Niki de Saint Phalle
My visit was coming to an end. I had no idea how much time I had spent in the Garden, but the rain was growing heavier, so I began making my way toward the gates. Yet something compelled me to turn right to explore one final sculpture.
It called to me—a grotto crowned by a winged spirit. I stepped inside. On the wall rested a faceless Black Madonna, powerful and silent.
I could not have known then. Only now, as I write this, do I realise. The Black Madonna would play a significant role in my journey of initiation.
If you have not read my previous articles, “The Regulus Serpent: On the Trail of a Myth Lost in Time” and “Where Saturn Dwells: The Witch, The Serpent, The Black Madonna and the Sacred Sulfur Springs ”, I would recommend that you do so.
I walked to the car and slowly pulled out of the car park, the garden gates shrinking in the rearview mirror. It felt like a vision fading from my eyes as I woke from a dream, though I was not sure I wanted to wake up.
On the road back, the rain had intensified so much that everything around me, even the towering green hills ahead, was veiled in a milky patina. The raindrops struck the car like a steady drumbeat.
“Thank you,” I whispered to the clouds. They had, in the end, agreed to hold back—just long enough for my visit to be complete.
