Decades ago, while he was living at the Breslin Hotel, an SRO dive in NYC, the unclassifiable artist and “American Magus” Harry Smith told me I should make a Tarot. Harry was a fabulous and utterly weird mentor in return for the homage of a quart each of milk and beer on each visit–and sympathetically viewing his latest deceased pet parakeet, kept in the freezer. Harry had a singular taste for the occult and loved talent with an odd outlook. He attracted many young admirers and I cannot imagine that I am the only person he ever gave this directive to. At last, I’ve been experimenting with painted collages, to see where the images lead; at the moment they are provisionally designated, so please enjoy them in that spirit.