Tarot Card Symbolism: How to Read Colors, Numbers and Images

One request comes up in almost every class I teach: "I just want the basic meanings so I can do readings." I understand the impulse. But the keywords in the small guidebook are only a starting point. When you understand the sources and layers of the imagery, your interpretations can become more specific and useful. This is a friendly guide to the colours, creatures, numbers, plants, and archetypes used across all 78 cards. By the end, you will have a practical way to examine the details in a card.

The Major Arcana, also called the twenty-two trumps, depict archetypes and major themes in human life. Their images draw on symbolism developed by artists and occult writers over many years. Here are a few well-known examples so you can see how to examine the details.

Compared with the trumps, the Minor Arcana often show simpler, everyday scenes involving cups, coins, wands, and blades. Their symbolism can be harder to interpret because important details are small. A useful starting point is the traditional element and themes associated with each suit.

Beyond their concrete images, the Major Arcana use archetypes, recurring patterns or roles in human experience. Carl Jung described archetypes as common patterns in the psyche. Recognising one can help you describe the role a card may be playing in a reading.

Some useful tarot symbols are easy to overlook: the numbers on every Minor card, the animals in the scenes, and the flowers in the background. Learning to notice them gives you more details to consider.

The Major Arcana also form a numbered sequence. You can read it loosely as stages of life: cards I and V as early learning, VI and X as choices and development, XI and XV as responsibility, XVI and XX as major reassessment, and XXI onward as integration and later wisdom.

Tarot's images are not isolated. They draw on visual themes that people have used across cultures and centuries. Some symbols recur because different traditions use them to discuss similar subjects. When you read a tarot symbol, it helps to consider both the deck's tradition and your question.

Symbolism still matters when a card appears upside down. A reversal can change which part of the card's meaning is most relevant. Even upright, an archetype can have helpful and difficult expressions. Considering both gives a more balanced interpretation than focusing only on positive meanings.

A beginner often asks, “What does the bird mean?” as if every bird carried one universal answer. A more useful question is, “What is this bird doing in this scene, and what does that action contribute to the question?” A bird above a figure may suggest perspective or a message; a caged bird may raise a different question about restriction; a bird that exists only in the background may be atmosphere rather than the card's main instruction. The image gives you evidence to observe, tradition gives you a vocabulary, and the question decides which part matters most.

Use four layers when you study. Observation is what a camera could record: a person faces left, three cups stand upright, a river runs behind them. Tradition is the symbolic association you have learned: water may be linked with feeling, or a crown with authority. Context asks how that association fits the person's question. Personal association is what the symbol evokes for this reader or querent. Do not confuse these layers. “There is a black bird” is an observation; “black means bad news” is an interpretation, not a fact.

This distinction matters because tarot decks are designed objects made in particular times and traditions. The V&A describes the earliest surviving tarot cards as fifteenth-century Italian playing cards and notes that divinatory use developed later; its Rider-Waite-Smith collection also records the 1909 commission to Pamela Colman Smith and the deck's mixture of Christian, Jewish, Egyptian, alchemical, and astrological references (V&A history of tarot cards; V&A Rider-Waite-Smith object record). That is historical evidence about the deck's development, not proof that a particular card will cause an event. Keep the difference visible in your notebook.

When you write a reading, make the move between the two columns explicit. Try language such as, “The covered eyes may invite a question about what is not yet available to you; in this career question, that could mean waiting for information rather than accusing someone of deception.” That sentence offers a possibility and shows its reasoning. It does not turn a visual detail into a verdict. If your interpretation cannot explain why the detail matters to the question, let it remain a detail instead of forcing it to speak.

The numbered cards become much easier when you stop treating the number and suit as two separate flash cards. Let the number describe a stage of movement and let the suit describe the life area or element; then check whether the illustrated scene agrees, complicates, or contradicts your first impression. A Four of Swords is not simply “four equals stability plus Swords equals thought.” The resting figure, enclosed space, and suspended weapons make that stability look like deliberate recovery, withdrawal, or a pause before a decision. A Four of Wands has a different scene, so the same number can express a stable threshold through celebration and shared structure.

Numbers are a pattern language, not a compulsory sequence of events. One can be an opening, two a meeting or tension, three an early result, four a structure, five a destabilization, six a response or rebalancing, seven an assessment, eight sustained force, nine intensity near completion, and ten a completed cycle that contains the next beginning. These are useful hypotheses. If the image strongly disagrees, describe the disagreement rather than flattening it. A Seven of Cups may show many possibilities, but the question decides whether that is imaginative abundance, avoidance, or a needed period of comparison.

For court cards, ask whether the figure represents a person, a role, a way of acting, or a skill the querent is developing. A Queen of Swords can be a direct colleague, a boundary-setting posture, or a need for clear language. Do not assign a gender or personality to a real person just because a court card appears. Let the surrounding cards and the question earn that interpretation.

Imagine a beginner asks, “Should I accept the job offer?” and draws the High Priestess as the card describing what they need to understand. This is a hypothetical teaching example, not a prediction about a real person. On the inventory, the Rider-Waite-Smith image offers a seated figure between two pillars, a veil, a scroll, water behind her, a crescent, and a still frontal posture. The first reading should not be “the job is secret” or “say no.” Those are leaps beyond the image.

In the second pass, the verbs are guards, sits, conceals, and holds. Tradition may associate the High Priestess with inward knowledge, thresholds, and information not yet spoken. Applied to the question, the card could suggest that the querent needs to ask what has not been explained: reporting lines, probation, salary review, remote-work expectations, or a non-compete clause. The supportive interpretation is “pause and gather the missing information.” The cautionary interpretation is “do not confuse a quiet intuition with evidence; ask a direct question before deciding.”

Suppose a second card, the Eight of Pentacles, shows careful skill-building. That could support the idea that the role rewards learning, but it could also warn that the job demands more repetitive training than the advert implied. A third card showing the Two of Swords might emphasize indecision, or simply show that two offers are genuinely being compared. The limit is clear: the cards cannot inspect a contract. The usable output is a list of five questions for the hiring manager and a deadline for reviewing the written offer. The symbolism improved the decision by identifying a missing-information task, not by selecting the job for the querent.

Now imagine a hypothetical querent asking, “Can this relationship become more dependable?” The Eight of Pentacles appears. In the Rider-Waite-Smith scene, a person works at a bench on repeated pentacles. The image gives us concentration, craft, repetition, a separate task in progress, and a physical result being made. It does not prove that a partner will become faithful or that the relationship is destined to last.

Number and suit provide a starting hypothesis: eight can describe sustained effort or developing mastery, while Pentacles point toward tangible routines, resources, the body, and work. The scene makes “dependability” look less like a grand declaration and more like repeated behaviour. A constructive interpretation asks, “What small agreement could both people keep every week?” A shadow interpretation asks whether one person is doing all the work while the other receives the finished product. Both are plausible because the same image contains skill and repetition as well as solitary labour.

Suppose the surrounding cards show the Two of Cups and the Five of Wands. The first may support mutual feeling; the second may show recurring friction, competing needs, or a productive negotiation. An alternative reading is that the question is really about the querent's own habit of over-functioning, not the partner's potential. The limit is especially important: a card cannot establish consent, safety, or another person's private intention. The practical output is a two-week experiment with one observable agreement, such as a scheduled conversation or shared task, followed by a review of what actually happened. Symbolism becomes useful when behaviour tests the hypothesis.

A card may feel obvious because you know one popular keyword, not because the reading is finished. If you see The Tower and immediately announce disaster, return to the inventory: what is falling, what remains standing, where are the figures looking, and what could the lightning illuminate? A breakdown is one possibility; an abrupt release from a structure that was already unsafe is another. If you see The Star and promise healing, ask what the figure is doing with the water and where the attention goes. Hope can coexist with patient repair.

If a personal association clashes with tradition, keep both in two columns. A querent who has a painful memory of dogs may not experience the dog in The Fool as uncomplicated loyalty. Ask what the image evokes for them, then retain the card's wider role as companionship, instinct, or a witness to risk. If a deck changes the image, follow that deck. A fox replacing a dog is not an error to be forced back into the Rider-Waite-Smith meaning; it is a design choice that deserves observation and a source note in your study journal.

Reversals need the same restraint. Turn the card into a question before turning it into a negative. Is the energy blocked, internal, delayed, excessive, or viewed from another angle? The reversed Eight of Pentacles might describe perfectionism, interrupted practice, or a need to stop polishing a task that is already good enough. It might simply be a physical reminder that the reader's deck was shuffled differently. Use the spread, the question, and the querent's facts to choose among possibilities; never use a reversal to manufacture fear.

A spread creates a relationship between cards. The position gives each card a grammatical job: a card in “what is known” does not do the same work as the same card in “what to try next.” Direction can add another layer. If two figures face one another, they may show exchange; if every figure faces away from the centre, the spread may invite a question about withdrawal or separate priorities. These are prompts, not rules. Record what the image actually does before deciding what the arrangement means.

Look for three kinds of connection. Repetition occurs when several cards show water, enclosed rooms, or hands holding objects. Ask what is being emphasized. Contrast occurs when one card is crowded and another is empty, or when one figure acts while another waits. Ask whether the spread shows a choice, a consequence, or a change of pace. Development occurs when a motif changes form, such as a seed, a flowering plant, and a harvested field. Ask what stage the question is actually in. A single shared colour is weaker evidence than a repeated action that answers the question directly.

Before you read a spread aloud, write a one-sentence headline and three supporting observations. Then write a competing headline and the observations that would support it. This small counter-reading protects you from falling in love with the first story. If both stories fit, the honest conclusion may be that the question needs more context or that the cards are showing an internal choice rather than an external forecast.

Consider a hypothetical three-card spread for the question, “What should I understand before moving to a new city?” The positions are what I am leaving, what I need to practise, and what to investigate next. The cards are The Hermit, Queen of Wands, and Six of Swords. This is a teaching scenario; the cards do not establish that a move will happen.

The Hermit in the first position gives an image of a solitary figure carrying a lamp. The traditional association with inward study may fit someone leaving a familiar but isolating routine, yet it could also describe a deliberate period of research rather than loneliness. The Queen of Wands in the middle position brings warmth, a sunflower, a cat, and an assured seated figure. Read as a skill to practise, she might suggest making community-building an active part of the move: attend a class, introduce yourself, or bring creative energy into a new room. An alternative is that the querent already has that confidence and needs to avoid becoming the only organiser for everyone else.

The Six of Swords in the final position shows a boat carrying figures and swords toward a different shore. The movement is real within the image, but the water is not a promise of a smooth journey. It can prompt practical questions about transport, emotional baggage, and what should come along. Read together, the spread may say, “Research quietly, build a social bridge, and plan the transition rather than treating distance as a cure.” It could also describe a temporary retreat, not a permanent relocation. The limit is decisive: inspect the lease, cost of living, healthcare, and support network separately. The spread's useful output is a moving checklist with three columns—information to gather, people to contact, and emotional work not to outsource to a city.

Colour can guide attention, but it is not a universal dictionary. In one deck, red may signal vitality because it dominates an active figure's clothing; in another, red may simply be an artist's palette. Compare the colour's location, repetition, and contrast. A small red flower beside a grey wall does different visual work from a red sky across the whole card. Write “red draws my eye toward the hand” before writing “red means desire.”

Scale and placement work in the same way. A tiny figure beneath a large mountain may express the experience of a daunting task, but it may also be a deliberate perspective choice. An object in the foreground often feels immediate; an object at the edge may be a condition rather than the subject. Empty space can indicate rest, distance, or an invitation for the eye to move. It does not automatically mean absence or loss. Check whether the card's title, position, suit, and neighbouring images support that reading.

If you use astrology, numerology, elemental dignities, or a personal system, add it after the image inventory. Mark those additions as your interpretive framework, not as historical proof about what the artist intended. Too many systems can produce the illusion of precision. A short reading that names three well-supported details is stronger than a catalogue of every correspondence you know.

Tarot study often encounters Christian, Jewish, Egyptian, alchemical, astrological, and other visual references. A deck can place those references beside one another without making them interchangeable. The V&A's collection record describes the Rider-Waite-Smith cards as combining several sources; that supports a claim about the deck's visual vocabulary, not a claim that every modern keyword is the original meaning of a religious symbol. Before calling a symbol “universal,” ask whose tradition you are naming, which deck uses it, and whether your source is describing history or offering a contemporary interpretation.

This is practical, not merely academic. A person may have a living relationship to a cross, crescent, lotus, snake, or sacred figure that differs from a reader's keyword sheet. Let the querent explain a personal association without pretending it is the only tradition. If you are teaching, say “in this deck and this interpretive school” instead of “this symbol always means.” If you publish a guidebook or post, credit artists and historians, and avoid presenting a modern collage of correspondences as an ancient secret code.

Try a source audit with one card. Make three columns: visible in the artwork, documented about this deck, and interpretive possibility. Put “two pillars” in the first, a museum record about the deck's designer in the second, and “a threshold between alternatives” in the third. The audit lets a beginner keep curiosity while seeing where certainty ends. It also leaves room for a new deck, a different culture, or a querent's own experience to change the reading responsibly.

When you read for yourself, write the question and your desired answer before shuffling. After the card appears, write what you hope it means and what you fear it means. Then return to the image inventory and produce a third interpretation that you could explain to a friend. This three-column exercise exposes wishful thinking without shaming intuition. If the question concerns safety, health, law, money, or another person's consent, treat the cards as a prompt for grounded support and facts, never as permission to take a risky action. A good symbol study increases your ability to notice choices; it does not take responsibility for them.

If you practise with another reader, ask for feedback on your reasoning rather than whether the prediction came true. Did you name what was visible? Did you distinguish a traditional association from your personal response? Did you offer an alternative and a limit? A useful partner can point out when you skipped from “the figure holds a sword” to “someone will attack,” or when you ignored a detail that contradicted your favourite story. Over time, this kind of feedback makes interpretation clearer and kinder. It also gives you a reliable way to improve when a card feels unfamiliar: return to the picture, ask a better question, and let the evidence in the scene lead.

For the history in this guide, see the Victoria and Albert Museum's history of tarot and its Rider-Waite-Smith collection record. The Metropolitan Museum's Immaterial: Tarot is also useful for seeing how different artists and readers engage with tarot imagery. These sources support claims about objects, artists, dates, and visual traditions. They do not certify one universal meaning for a symbol. Interpretive meanings in a reading remain a practice of context, comparison, and reflective judgment.

Here's my one assignment for you: spend real time with your own deck. Go card by card and build a personal guidebook. Note the symbols, the colours, and the feelings each image brings up. The more you practise through journaling or quiet study, the easier it becomes to form and test your own interpretations.

Create personal meanings alongside the traditional ones, but keep both in view. Symbols are not fixed answers. They are prompts that can help you consider a question from more than one perspective rather than deciding it for you.