A Farewell to Peppino di Capri

An old cassette tape that
belonged to my parents

Iconic Neapolitan singer, songwriter, and pianist Peppino di Capri died on July 11 at his home on his beloved native island of Capri. Born Giuseppe Faiella on July 27, 1939, into a family of musicians, he rose to fame in the 1950s by blending the emerging sounds of American rock ‘n’ roll and the twist with the rich melodic traditions of Neapolitan song. As Naples, the Amalfi Coast, and the islands of the Bay of Naples regained their international glamour from the 1960s onward, Peppino di Capri and his music became fixtures of both the international jet set and local social life.

A child prodigy, he began playing the piano at the age of four. During the Second World War, he performed for Allied soldiers while continuing his musical studies in Naples. By the age of fourteen, he was already singing and playing piano professionally in Capri and Ischia. In 1958, he formed the group Peppino di Capri e i Suoi Rockers, adopting the affectionate stage name that proudly proclaimed his Caprese origins. His early Neapolitan-language recordings, including Nun è Peccato and Malattia, quickly became popular successes.

Over the course of a remarkable career spanning more than six decades, he recorded beloved classics from the Neapolitan repertoire alongside numerous original compositions. Among his most enduring songs are Roberta, Champagne, Forever, and Saint Tropez Twist. His willingness to evolve musically allowed him to move seamlessly from the twist era into contemporary Italian popular music while remaining unmistakably Neapolitan in style.

In 1965, he opened for the Beatles during their Italian tour. He won the Sanremo Music Festival in 1973 with Un grande amore e niente più and again in 1976 with Non lo faccio più. In 1970, he founded his own record label, Splash, and in 1991 represented Italy at the Eurovision Song Contest with the Neapolitan song Comme è ddoce ’o mare.

His signature song, Champagne, released in 1973, became one of the defining love songs of modern Italian music. Reflecting the complexities of romance, marriage, and heartbreak, it established him as one of Italy’s great romantic interpreters and endeared him to successive generations of listeners.

In recognition of his extraordinary career, he received the Lifetime Achievement Award at the Sanremo Music Festival in 2023. He continued performing well into his later years and, in 2025, became the subject of the successful Rai 1 biographical film Champagne – Peppino di Capri.

After a long illness, Peppino di Capri passed away on the island that had shaped both his life and his artistic identity. He lay in state in Capri, and the day of his funeral was marked by official mourning, with businesses and shops across the island closing in his honor.

By embracing the Neapolitan language and musical tradition while continually renewing its appeal for modern audiences, Peppino di Capri helped pave the way for generations of twentieth- and twenty-first-century Neapolitan recording artists. He demonstrated that Neapolitan music could remain rooted in its own traditions while speaking to audiences around the world. His legacy endures not only in his unforgettable songs but also in the renewed prestige he brought to Neapolitan music on the international stage.

Peppino di Capri is survived by his son, Igor Faiella, from his first marriage to Roberta Stoppa, and by his sons, Edoardo and Dario Faiella, from his second marriage to Giuliana Gagliardi.

~ By Cav. Charles Sant'Elia

Simple Pleasures: A Thoughtful Gift from the Byzantine Tradition

My sincere thanks to a friend who recently returned from Our Lady of Wisdom Byzantine Catholic Church in Las Vegas, Nevada, with two beautiful prayer cards: one honoring the Ascension of Our Lord Jesus Christ and the other commemorating the Protection of the Mother of God. The gift was especially thoughtful, coming after he learned of my growing appreciation for the Byzantine Divine Liturgy and my recent discovery of my Arbëreshë ancestry in San Costantino Albanese, Potenza, Lucania. Such small acts of friendship often carry significance far beyond their size, serving as quiet reminders of the spiritual and ancestral ties that continue to enrich one’s journey.

~ By Giovanni di Napoli, July 13th, Feast of Santa Trofimena 

Remembering Jacques Cathelineau, the “Saint de l’Anjou”

b. 5 January 1759 — d. 14 July 1793

In memory of the “Saint de l’Anjou” Jacques Cathelineau, Vendée royalist and premier généralissime de l'Armée catholique et royale, we pray for the happy repose of his soul.

Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord and let perpetual light shine upon him. May his soul, and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen

Photo of the Week: Apollo with the Cithara, Vatican Museums

Apollo Citharoedus ("Apollo the cithara-player"), also known as Apollo Musagetes ("Apollo, Leader of the Muses"), marble, 2nd century A.D., Vatican Museums. Photo by New York Scugnizzo

Thomas Cole's The Course of Empire

A visitor pauses before all five paintings

It had been ages since my last visit to the New York Historical Society, and returning to see Thomas Cole’s magnificent series, The Course of Empire, was well worth the wait. Displayed together, the five paintings trace the rise and fall of a civilization, from its earliest beginnings to its height of power, its violent destruction, and, finally, its abandonment to time and nature.

The Course of Empire: Consumption of Empire, ca. 1836

Each painting is remarkable in its own right, and seeing the complete cycle together never fails to impress. Unfortunately, my photographs of the first two works—The Savage State and The Arcadian State—did not turn out well, so I am sharing only The Consummation of Empire, Destruction, and Desolation. Together, the latter three paintings capture the grandeur, catastrophe, and haunting aftermath of Cole’s vision.

The Course of Empire: Destruction, 1836

More than a sequence of landscapes, The Course of Empire is a meditation on the recurring pattern of human civilization: its birth, ascent, triumph, decline, and eventual disappearance. Standing before these canvases, one cannot help but think of the cyclical view of history found in the writings of Giambattista Vico, Oswald Spengler, and others who believed that civilizations pass through recognizable stages of growth and decline. Cole’s masterpiece captures the enduring truth that no earthly empire, however magnificent, escapes the passage of time.

~ By Giovanni di Napoli, July 12th, Feast of Santa Veronica

The Course of Empire: Desolation, 1836

Bonded by Blood, Across the Ocean

Germana Valentini

On Thursday evening, I had the pleasure of attending Bonded by Blood. New World. at the Italian American Museum in Little Italy, a thoughtful and inspiring program celebrating the enduring ties between Italy and the Italian American community.

The evening centered on In Sanguine Foedus. Nuovo Mondo (“Bonded by Blood. New World”), the monumental mural installed on the historic Molo San Vincenzo at the Port of Naples. Painted on the very pier where millions of Italians departed for America, the artwork stands as a powerful tribute to one of the greatest migrations in modern history. It reminds us that the story of Italian America begins not at Ellis Island, but on the docks of Naples, where countless families took their final steps on Italian soil before embarking for the New World.

Following welcoming remarks by Dr. Joseph V. Scelsa, author and cultural researcher Germana Valentini presented the remarkable story behind the project. Her research and passion for preserving the history of Italian migration were evident throughout, demonstrating how public art can serve not only as a memorial to the past but also as a bridge between Italy and its diaspora.

Among the most exciting moments of the evening was the announcement of several initiatives that will further strengthen that bridge. Plans are underway to create a companion mural on the façade of Grotta Azzurra in New York’s Little Italy, creating a visual dialogue between Naples and New York. Also announced were plans for the City of Naples to present the Basilica of St. Patrick’s Old Cathedral with a replica of the statue of San Gennaro that stands at the Port of Naples.

Don Luigi and Dr. Scelsa

The Italian American Museum is also exploring a collaboration with the Museo del Tesoro di San Gennaro in Naples to bring an exhibition on the Treasures of San Gennaro to New York following this year’s Feast of San Gennaro. If realized, the exhibition would offer visitors a rare opportunity to experience one of Naples’ most revered religious and artistic collections in the heart of Little Italy.

Taken together, these initiatives demonstrated that In Sanguine Foedus has grown beyond a single mural into a broader cultural initiative that uses art, history, and faith to strengthen the enduring ties between Naples and New York.

Rev. Luigi Portarulo also shared that the city of Naples intends to present the Basilica with a first-class relic of San Gennaro—a relic containing an actual bone of the saint. According to him, this would mark the first time Naples has bestowed such a gift. For generations, the faithful in New York have venerated second- and third-class relics associated with the saint, making the prospect of receiving a first-class relic a remarkable spiritual and historical milestone for the Italian American community.

The Italian American Museum provided the perfect setting for the evening. Nestled in the heart of Little Italy, where so much of this history unfolded, the museum continues to serve as an important center for preserving and celebrating the Italian American experience.

The program concluded on a particularly moving note when Dominic Chianese sang Santa Lucia Luntana a cappella. The beloved Neapolitan song, with its themes of departure, longing, and love for one’s homeland, served as a poignant and fitting finale to an evening devoted to the story of Italian emigration and the enduring bond between Naples and New York.

~ By Giovanni di Napoli, July 12th, Feast of Santa Veronica

Review: Citizen Vigilante (2026)

Spoiler Alert

“This film is dedicated to the thousands of rape and murder victims in Europe who were betrayed by our legal system.” ~ The closing dedication

After hearing Citizen Vigilante (2026) was banned in Germany and described as timely by some, condemned as racist by others, and dismissed as a false flag, I was curious to see whether it lived up to the controversy.

Produced, written, and directed by Uwe Boll, the film stars Armie Hammer as Michael Sanders, a vigilante who takes justice into his own hands after losing faith in the legal system.

The film opens with a brutal daylight stabbing of a woman walking with her young son. The scene is bloody and shocking, and it immediately reminded me of the unprovoked killing of Iryna Zarutska in Charlotte, North Carolina.

Almost immediately, the film stumbles as it cuts to a breaking news report that laughably presents the news media establishment as an impartial and trustworthy source of information. As we routinely see, today’s media is ideologically driven and plays a significant role in shielding crooked politicians, selectively reporting certain crimes, and helping normalize the broader social decline that the film claims to condemn.

The film also portrays the vigilante’s growing popularity by showing ordinary people celebrating his violent methods. While revenge fantasies certainly have their audience, I found this depiction of widespread public support to be more a projection of the Left’s glorification of political violence. Just consider the unapologetic admiration expressed for Luigi Mangione, Tyler James Robinson, and the would-be assassins of Donald Trump.

For all its flaws, Citizen Vigilante is at its strongest when it explores public frustration with violent crime and a two-tier justice system perceived by many as placing ideology above the needs of victims. Its portrayal of corrupt judges whose decisions fuel public outrage is among its more convincing elements.

Rather than creating a compelling antihero, Michael frequents brothels, is a slumlord, and deliberately runs an innocent motorist off the road simply to "own" a drugged and sedated judge he is about to kill. As if that were not bizarre enough, in one scene he stops mid-coitus with a prostitute to inspect mold in the room—only to resume as though nothing had happened.

Most glaringly, he massacres a police tactical team in an over-the-top sequence that again resembles the kind of anti-police fantasy more commonly associated with the radical Left than with a law-and-order vigilante. Since the officers are never depicted as corrupt or complicit, one cannot help but wonder why he did not simply flee through the escape hatch instead of slaughtering them. This is a major contradiction that weakens both the character and the film’s so-called message.

While Citizen Vigilante raises important questions about crime, justice, immigration, and public confidence in legal institutions, those questions are ultimately overshadowed by implausible action, inconsistent characterization, and excessive violence.

~ By Giovanni di Napoli, July 12th, Feast of Santa Veronica

Eighth Sunday After Pentecost at St. Michael's Church in Staten Island, New York

More Than a Map

Since we're on the subject of maps, the mayor’s map of New York City’s Immigrant Enclaves began arriving in my inbox from friends and family, accompanied by messages expressing outrage and concern. At first, I couldn’t understand what the problem was. 

Everything seemed perfectly ordinary to me. After all, New York City is filled with immigrants from every corner of the world. These communities exist, and mapping them hardly struck me as controversial. In fact, one rarely meets a native-born New Yorker these days, and when you do, the conversation often turns to how dramatically the city has changed over the past twenty-five years or so.

What puzzled many people was the omission of Little Italy. Yet when I first looked at the map, I hardly noticed. I no longer instinctively think of Italians as an immigrant community—nor, for that matter, the other supposedly slighted groups, the Irish, Greeks, and Jews. We have been part of the fabric of New York for generations. I can't speak for the others, but compared with the newer arrivals represented on the map, immigration from Italy is relatively modest today.

If the omission was deliberate, I suspect it had less to do with demographics than politics. Modern identity politics encourages politicians to divide citizens into competing constituencies rather than govern on behalf of everyone. If a community is perceived as politically insignificant or outside a politician’s electoral coalition, it is easily ignored. Whether that was the case here, I cannot say with certainty.

Ironically, if anyone was truly snubbed, it was the corn-bred transplants who voted for the mayor. Despite arriving in impressive numbers over the past decade, they somehow failed to receive an enclave of their own. Where's Little Wisconsin?

Even so, I find it difficult to summon much outrage over this map. There are far more serious problems confronting New Yorkers than whether Little Italy appears on a city graphic. Crime, crushing taxes, declining quality of life, and the steady transformation of neighborhoods concern me infinitely more than a promotional map highlighting enclaves that many lifelong New Yorkers have never even heard of.

The broader reality is that the old ethnic neighborhoods that once defined New York City have largely disappeared. Italian enclaves, in particular, have been shrinking for decades. Those that remain are little more than tourist districts filled with souvenir shops and restaurants rather than the vibrant communities they once were. That is a far greater loss than being omitted from an infographic.

As I write this, I understand the mayor intends to revise the map after complaints from Italian Americans. If so, that is perfectly fine. Little Italy certainly deserves recognition for its historical importance.

But being added to a city map is a symbolic victory at best. It will not restore disappearing neighborhoods, revive the institutions that sustained them, or reverse the forces that have transformed New York. In the end, it changes very little.

The real story was never the map. It was the city that made such a map possible.

~ By Giovanni di Napoli, July 11th, Feast of St. Oliver Plunket

Europe of a Hundred Flags

A heraldic vision of Europe I found online

Previous: Europe Through the Lens of Christendom

Yesterday, we touched on the idea of Europe through the lens of Christendom—the shared spiritual and civilizational framework that helped shape the continent. As a natural continuation of that discussion, it is worth considering Europe of a Hundred Flags. Rather than viewing Europe primarily through the borders of modern nation-states, this vision sees the continent as a mosaic of historic peoples and regions: Basques, Bretons, Corsicans, Flemings, Neapolitans, Scots, Sicilians, Venetians, and many others, each with its own distinct histories, customs, and identities.

Yet these differences did not prevent Europe from developing a common civilization. Historically, the continent’s unity was not built upon uniformity but upon a shared spiritual and cultural foundation: Christendom. A Breton could remain Breton, a Sicilian could remain Sicilian, and a Venetian could remain Venetian, while still belonging to a broader Christian civilization that transcended regional and political boundaries.

As a son of Southern Italy, this perspective resonates with me. The Mezzogiorno possesses a history and character that cannot be reduced to administrative lines on a map. The same is true of many regions across Europe. Their identities were formed over centuries through shared memory, local tradition, and historical experience, long before the emergence of the modern nation-state.

My own understanding is that the Europe of a Hundred Flags and the Europe of Christendom are not opposing visions, but complementary ones. The first reminds us of Europe’s remarkable diversity; the second explains the civilizational framework that once united it. Together, they offer a vision of Europe as a family of distinct peoples sharing a common inheritance.

~ By Giovanni di Napoli, July 10th, Feast of Santa Rufina and Santa Seconda

Feast of Our Lady of Mt. Carmel at Corpus Christi Church in South River, New Jersey

Europe Through the Lens of Christendom

Next: Europe of a Hundred Flags

I recently came across this thought-provoking map captioned, “This is how I divide Europe,” and I was struck by how closely it aligns with my own fundamental understanding of the continent’s historic ethnic landscape—though not without a few adjustments.

In my view, southern France and Corsica belong firmly within the broader European, Mediterranean, and Latin world rather than being separated from it. I also agree that the Hungarians occupy a category all their own, though I have always referred to them as Magyar rather than Aryan—Turanian when I want to impress the ladies.

What struck me most, however, was not the map’s divisions but the deeper thread connecting them. Maps of ethnicity can tell us much about Europe’s diversity, but they often obscure the civilizational framework within which those peoples developed.

Whether Latin, Germanic, Celtic, Slavic, Greek, Magyar, or Nordic, Europe’s peoples largely developed within the common civilizational framework of Christendom. While ethnic and regional differences were real, they existed within a broader religious and cultural inheritance that gave Europe much of its historical character.

Looking at maps such as this one, I see less a collection of competing ethnic groups and more the many branches of a civilization that, despite its diversity, once understood itself as part of a greater whole. The presence of historic Islamic communities in parts of the Balkans does not alter the fact that Christianity was the principal force that shaped Europe’s civilizational character.

Europe’s story is therefore one of many peoples and one civilization.

~ By Giovanni di Napoli, July 10th, Feast of Santa Rufina and Santa Seconda

Traditional Pilgrimage to the Pontifical Shrine of Our Lady of Mount Carmel in East Harlem

Treasures from the Morgan’s Collections

The Saint of Bleecker Street Autograph manuscript, 1954,
Gian Carlo Menotti (1911-2007)

No visit to the Morgan Library & Museum feels complete without spending time in Pierpont Morgan’s magnificent study and the Library (East Room), where the splendor of the institution itself is as memorable as the objects it preserves.

The Collections Spotlight, Summer 2026 exhibition offered a reminder of the extraordinary breadth of the Morgan’s holdings. Among the many highlights were a document signed by Queen Maria I of Portugal, a manuscript notebook of Henry David Thoreau, a 1483 edition of Ulrich von Richental’s Das Concilium bůch geschehen zů Costencz, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe’s Zur Farbenlehre (On the Theory of Colors), and Gian Carlo Menotti’s autograph manuscript for The Saint of Bleecker Street, an opera rooted in the faith and traditions of New York’s Little Italy. Few museums bring together such a remarkable cross-section of European history, literature, music, and art under one roof.

~ By Giovanni di Napoli

Book of Hours, in Latin, begun by Georges Trubert and the Master
of the della Rovere Missals, completed by a follower of
Jean Bourdichon France, Avignon, ca. 1485-90

Das Concilium buch geschehen zu Costencz, Augsburg: Anton Sorg,
September 2, 1483, Ulrich von Richental (ca. 1365-1437[?])

On the Course of the Heavens and the Stars, in German,
attributed to Caspar Engelsüss and Michael Scot Germany,
Rhineland, second half of the fifteenth century

Life of St. Benedict, in Italian, Italy, Padua or Bergamo, ca. 1450

Zur Farbenlehre (On the theory of colors) Tübingen: In der J. G. Cotta'schen buchhandlung, 1810, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832)

Manuscript notebook, Cambridge and Concord, ca.
February-October 1852, Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862)

(L) Bust of Alfonso II d’Avalos (1502-1546), Marquis of Pescara and Vasto, Bronze, by Annibale Fontana (1540-1587). (R) Portrait of a Knight of Malta, 1499, tempera and oil on panel, Gian Giacomo D'Alladio, called Macrino D'Alba

(L) Running Eros, Holding a Torch, Bronze, Italy, Boscoreale, second
or first century B.C. (R) Life mask of George Washington,
1785, plaster, Jean-Antoine Houdon (1741-1828)

A peek into the West Room Vault

Feast of Our Lady of Eternal Aid at the Shrine Chapel of the Blessed Sacrament in Raritan, New Jersey

Luminous Color at the Morgan

Sky Study, ca. 1850, oil on paper, Carl Maria Nicolaus Hummel

After exploring the rich symbolism of Tarot! Renaissance Symbols, Modern Visions, I wandered into Luminous Color (February 10 through November 8, 2026), an intimate exhibition devoted to oil sketches from the remarkable collection donated jointly to the Morgan Library & Museum and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Though modest in scale, these vibrant studies, often painted as preparations for larger works, possess a freshness and immediacy that finished paintings sometimes lose. Rather than polished masterpieces, they reveal artists thinking through light, color, atmosphere, and composition, making them feel unexpectedly personal and alive.

~ By Giovanni di Napoli

View of Ischia from the Sea, 1842, oil on paper,
mounted to canvas, Jean-Charles-Joseph Rémond

Moonlit Harbor in Southern Italy, 1833-35, oil
on paper, mounted to Masonite, Thomas Fearnley

Moonlit View of the River Elbe at Dresden, 1826, oil on paper,
mounted to paper-covered wood panel, Johan Christian Dahl

Ischia and the Bay of Naples by Moonlight, ca. 1800,
oil on paper, Circle of Pierre Henri de Valenciennes

Garden of the Villa Medici, Rome, ca. 1845-70,
oil on paper, Jean-Achille Benouville

View of Rome with Ruined Church, ca. 1825-35,
oil on paper, mounted on canvas, Franz Ludwig Catel

Landscape at Sunset, ca. 1830, oil on paper,
mounted to canvas, Carl Gustav Carus

Cloud Study, 1828, oil on paper, mounted to cardboard, Johan Christian Dahl

Sunset on the Normandy Coast, ca. 1850, oil on paper,
mounted to canvas, Eugène Isabey

Jungfrau, Mönch, and Eiger, ca. 1851, oil on paper,
mounted to cardboard, Carl Morgenstern

Feast of Our Lady of Mt. Carmel at the Carmelite Monastery in Morristown, New Jersey

The Reimagining of the Tarot (Part II)

Rosenwald Tarot, Italy, Florence, ca. 1500,
woodcut on laid paper, unidentified artist

Previous: The Renaissance Origins of the Tarot (Part I)

Over the centuries, what began as an elegant Italian card game gradually became intertwined with mysticism, esotericism, fortune-telling, and the occult, inspiring generations of artists, writers, and filmmakers. Among the later works that particularly caught my attention were those associated with Austin Osman Spare and Aleister Crowley. Despite my personal antipathy toward these particular figures, for reasons beyond a difference of faith, their influence helped shape the tarot’s modern esoteric tradition.

The exhibition traces this transformation through paintings, prints, and popular culture, illustrating how a Renaissance creation evolved into one of the most recognizable symbolic systems of the modern world.

Although I remain most interested in the Renaissance origins of tarot and the reflections found in Meditations on the Tarot, it was fascinating to see how later generations continually reinvented its imagery.

~ By Giovanni di Napoli

Rosenwald Tarot, Italy, Florence, ca. 1500,
woodcut on laid paper, unidentified artist

(L-R) Death, The Hanged Man, and The Fool, Rider-Waite-Smith Tarot (Deck "C"), London: William Rider & Son, ca, 1921-31, Pamela Colman Smith (1878-1951) and Arthur Edward Waite (1857-1942)

(L-R) The Devil, The Lovers, and The World, Rider-Waite-Smith Tarot (Deck "C"), London: William Rider & Son, ca, 1921-31, Pamela Colman Smith (1878-1951) and Arthur Edward Waite (1857-1942)

Two Dogs Howling at the Moon, 1961, graphite, gouache,
and watercolor on paper, Leonora Carrington (1917-2011)

Surrealist Racing Forecast Cards, 1936, privately published
by Austin Osman Spare (1886-1956)

Tarot Deck, ca. 1906, ink and watercolor on paper and Obeah Cards, ca. 1930, ink and crayon on cardstock, Austin Osman Spare (1886-1956)

Tarot Deck, ca. 1906, ink and watercolor on paper,
Austin Osman Spare (1886-1956)

Tarot Deck, ca. 1906, ink and watercolor on paper,
Austin Osman Spare (1886-1956)

(L-R) Palimpsest (Self-Portrait), n.d., pencil and watercolor on board, Austin Osman Spare (1886-1956); Map of the Human Animal, 1962, watercolor, ink, and graphite on paper, Leonora Carrington (1917-2011); and The Other Clock (El otro relo), 1957, gouache and ink on cardboard, Remedios Varo (1908-1963) 

(L-R) Sketch for "The Magus," n.d., graphite on paper, and sketch for "Adjustment," n.d., ink and graphite on paper, Aleister Crowley (1875-1947) and Lady Frieda Harris (1877-1962)

(L-R) Death, The Magus, and Knight of Wands. Drawings for the Thoth Tarot, 1938-43, watercolor on paper with hand-painted mats, Aleister Crowley (1875-1947) and Lady Frieda Harris (1877-1962)

(L-R) The Moon, Three of Disks, and The Chariot. Drawings for the Thoth Tarot, 1938-43, watercolor on paper with hand-painted mats, Aleister Crowley (1875-1947) and Lady Frieda Harris (1877-1962)

Thoth Tarot Card Deck / Ordo Templi Orientis, White Box "B," St. Paul, MN: Llewellyn Publications, (1973(?)], Aleister Crowley (1875-1947) and Lady Frieda Harris (1877-1962)

(L-R) The Lovers, The Magician, The World, Tarot Universal Dalí,
Spain: Naipes Comas, 1984, Salvador Dali (1904-1989)

Devil and Fool, 1948 Oil on canvas, Kurt Seligmann (1900-1962)

The Book of Thoth, London: Urdo lempli Orientis/Chiswick Press,
1944, Aleister Crowley (1875-1947)

Translated by Arthur Edward Waite (1857-1942), The History of Magic, London: Rider & Co, Paternoster House, E.C., mid-twentieth century], Eliphas Lévi (Alphonse Louis Constant, 1810-1875)

(L-R) Untitled, n.d., watercolor and ink on paper; Sketch for Glass, 1908, watercolor and ink on paper; Time, n.d., watercolor and graphite on paperboard, Pamela Colman Smith (1878-1951)

(L-R) Untitled, 1955, ink, watercolor, and gouache on paper, Cameron (Marjorie Cameron, 1922-1995); Wheel of Fortune, n.d., gouache on paper, Juanita Guccione (1904-1999); and The Pulp Tarot, New York, The Unemployed Philosophers Guild, 2021, Todd Alcott