Or: Why a handful of young English artists began searching for the roots of art nearly 180 years ago.
When people first hear the word Pre-Raphaelite, they often arrive at an understandable conclusion. Surely these must have been painters who lived before Raphael.
That is about as accurate as saying that The Beatles composed their music before Johann Sebastian Bach.
The Pre-Raphaelites did not live before Raphael. They lived almost three centuries after him. Yet they deliberately chose that name, and therein lies the key to understanding who they were. They did not reject Raphael. They wanted to understand what they believed had been lost after Raphael.
Why begin this new series with the Pre-Raphaelites rather than Leonardo, Michelangelo, or the Renaissance itself? Because I believe they asked a question that every artist eventually has to confront.
Where do the roots of my own art lie?
I do not study art history because I want to memorise names or dates. There are art historians who do that far better than I ever could. What interests me is something else entirely. I want to understand the ideas on which my own work stands. Why certain images move me. Why I return again and again to light and shadow. Why symbolism, reduction, gesture and calligraphy continue to fascinate me.
In short, I want to give my own art roots.
That is why the Pre-Raphaelites interest me so deeply. Their manifesto is far more than a historical curiosity. It is an attempt to question the very foundations of artistic creation. Not, “How can we make more modern art?” but rather, “What is our art actually built upon?”
England in 1848
The year 1848 was a turbulent one. Revolutions swept across Europe, old political systems began to crumble, and the arts were also reaching a turning point. At London’s Royal Academy, young painters were taught what “good art” should look like. Compositions followed established rules, subjects were repeated, and technical perfection was considered the highest achievement. The students became exceptionally skilled painters, yet some of them felt that something essential had disappeared. Paintings were becoming increasingly perfect, but not necessarily more truthful.
Out of this dissatisfaction, seven young artists founded the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood (PRB) in 1848. Among its best-known members were Dante Gabriel Rossetti, William Holman Hunt and John Everett Millais. Their ambition was surprisingly modern. They did not want to invent another fashionable style. They wanted to rediscover the roots of artistic creation.
Why “Pre-Raphaelite”?
The name itself was deliberately provocative. Raphael was certainly not regarded as a bad painter. Quite the opposite—his mastery was admired.
What they questioned was the development that followed him. Raphael’s style became the academic model for generations of European artists. Students learned how Raphael composed a painting, how he arranged figures and how a “correct” picture should look. Gradually, living art became a set of rules.
The Pre-Raphaelites were therefore not trying to return to the past. They wanted to recover an attitude—a way of making art that grew out of personal conviction rather than habit.
Four remarkably modern principles
The Pre-Raphaelites never issued a grand public manifesto, but their ideas can be distilled into four guiding principles. Remarkably, they still feel strikingly relevant today.
1. To have genuine ideas to express.
The first principle is almost shocking in its simplicity.
Technique does not come first.
Style does not come first.
Technical mastery does not come first.
The idea comes first.
A work of art should exist because the artist has something worth saying, not because a particular technique happens to be fashionable.
When I look at photographs today, the first question I ask is rarely which camera was used.
Instead, I ask:
What is this image trying to say?
That question is almost two centuries old, yet it may be more relevant now than ever.
2. To study Nature attentively, so as to know how to express them.
For the Pre-Raphaelites, “Nature” meant far more than landscapes. It meant reality itself—people, plants, light and materials. They observed the world with astonishing precision. Flowers were painted botanically accurately, fabrics behaved like real fabrics, and light fell exactly as it does in life. They were not obsessed with accuracy for its own sake. They believed that honesty begins with careful observation.
If you would like to see what they meant, look up John Everett Millais’ “Ophelia.” Do not focus first on the young woman. Look instead at the vegetation surrounding her. Almost every flower carries symbolic meaning, and every plant was painted with extraordinary botanical accuracy. A simple image search or a good art book immediately reveals why this painting remains one of the defining masterpieces of the movement.
For photographers, the lesson is beautifully simple.
We should not photograph what we think we know.
We should photograph what we actually see.
3. To sympathise with what is direct and serious and heartfelt in previous art, to the exclusion of what is conventional and self-parading and learned by rote.
This is probably the principle that resonates with me most strongly.
The Pre-Raphaelites did not want to imitate earlier masters. They wanted to understand why those works still possess such power. They searched for sincerity, emotional honesty and genuine conviction rather than convention or routine.
A wonderful example is Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s “Proserpine.” At first glance it appears to be simply the portrait of a beautiful woman. Yet anyone familiar with the ancient myth quickly discovers that almost every detail—the pomegranate, the light, even her expression—forms part of a much larger narrative. It is the kind of painting that rewards not the first glance, but the second and the third.
This is precisely why I study art history. I am not looking for templates. I am looking for roots. I continually ask myself whether my own photographs arise from genuine conviction or merely because I possess the technical ability to create them.
Perhaps that question matters even more today than it did in 1848. Billions of images are produced every day. Trends spread within hours. Algorithms increasingly influence what visual language becomes successful. All the more reason to return to our own artistic roots.
4. And most indispensable of all, to produce thoroughly good pictures and statues.
The final principle appears almost self-evident.
In reality, it is anything but.
The Pre-Raphaelites were not saying that good intentions are enough. A powerful idea deserves equally powerful craftsmanship. Art requires both. Thought without skill remains incomplete. Skill without thought becomes mere decoration.
If you want to see how seriously they took this principle, spend a few quiet minutes with William Holman Hunt’s “The Light of the World.” Almost nothing in that painting is accidental. Every object carries meaning. It demonstrates the difference between an image that is merely attractive and one that continues to engage viewers for generations.
More than beautiful women
Many people associate the Pre-Raphaelites with beautiful women, flowing hair, medieval costumes and romantic landscapes.
That is certainly part of the story.
But it is only the surface.
Look more carefully and you will discover extraordinary layers of symbolism. Flowers tell stories. Colours carry meaning. Every gesture matters. Every glance has purpose. These paintings are not simply meant to be admired.
They are meant to be read.
Perhaps that is the real reason they continue to fascinate us.
What can photographers learn from them?
Simply keep the four principles of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood in mind and then spend a few minutes scrolling through any social media feed.
The first question is:
Does this image actually have something original to say?
How many photographs can honestly answer yes?
The second principle asks us to observe reality attentively.
Instead we often encounter the same poses, the same expressions, the same over-the-shoulder glance, the same artificial smile, the same duck face, the same filters and the same visual clichés repeated thousands of times.
The third principle asks whether we are creating something born from genuine conviction—or merely repeating what has already proven successful for others.
Only then comes the fourth principle:
Create a truly good picture.
Perhaps that order is the most remarkable lesson of all.
Today we often begin with cameras, lenses, sensors, artificial intelligence or image editing software.
The Pre-Raphaelites would probably have asked a different question first:
“What are you trying to say?”
Perhaps that is why I find this group of artists so compelling. Their manifesto was formulated in 1848, yet it sometimes feels like an answer to questions we have only begun asking in the twenty-first century.
This article is intentionally not an art history lecture. If it has sparked your curiosity, look up the paintings mentioned here or find them in a good book on nineteenth-century art. Spend a few minutes with each one. Resist the temptation to glance quickly and move on.
I suspect you will not only understand the Pre-Raphaelites better.
You may also begin to see your own photographs differently.
Because perhaps that is the greatest gift art history offers us. It does not simply teach us how artists worked in the past.
It helps us understand why we create images the way we do today.
That is why looking back matters.
Not out of nostalgia.
But because strong images have roots.
And artists who understand their roots are more likely to create work that will endure.
What Photographers Can Learn from the Pre-Raphaelites
Or: Why a handful of young English artists began searching for the roots of art nearly 180 years ago.
When people first hear the word Pre-Raphaelite, they often arrive at an understandable conclusion. Surely these must have been painters who lived before Raphael.
That is about as accurate as saying that The Beatles composed their music before Johann Sebastian Bach.
The Pre-Raphaelites did not live before Raphael. They lived almost three centuries after him. Yet they deliberately chose that name, and therein lies the key to understanding who they were. They did not reject Raphael. They wanted to understand what they believed had been lost after Raphael.
Why begin this new series with the Pre-Raphaelites rather than Leonardo, Michelangelo, or the Renaissance itself? Because I believe they asked a question that every artist eventually has to confront.
Where do the roots of my own art lie?
I do not study art history because I want to memorise names or dates. There are art historians who do that far better than I ever could. What interests me is something else entirely. I want to understand the ideas on which my own work stands. Why certain images move me. Why I return again and again to light and shadow. Why symbolism, reduction, gesture and calligraphy continue to fascinate me.
In short, I want to give my own art roots.
That is why the Pre-Raphaelites interest me so deeply. Their manifesto is far more than a historical curiosity. It is an attempt to question the very foundations of artistic creation. Not, “How can we make more modern art?” but rather, “What is our art actually built upon?”
England in 1848
The year 1848 was a turbulent one. Revolutions swept across Europe, old political systems began to crumble, and the arts were also reaching a turning point. At London’s Royal Academy, young painters were taught what “good art” should look like. Compositions followed established rules, subjects were repeated, and technical perfection was considered the highest achievement. The students became exceptionally skilled painters, yet some of them felt that something essential had disappeared. Paintings were becoming increasingly perfect, but not necessarily more truthful.
Out of this dissatisfaction, seven young artists founded the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood (PRB) in 1848. Among its best-known members were Dante Gabriel Rossetti, William Holman Hunt and John Everett Millais. Their ambition was surprisingly modern. They did not want to invent another fashionable style. They wanted to rediscover the roots of artistic creation.
Why “Pre-Raphaelite”?
The name itself was deliberately provocative. Raphael was certainly not regarded as a bad painter. Quite the opposite—his mastery was admired.
What they questioned was the development that followed him. Raphael’s style became the academic model for generations of European artists. Students learned how Raphael composed a painting, how he arranged figures and how a “correct” picture should look. Gradually, living art became a set of rules.
The Pre-Raphaelites were therefore not trying to return to the past. They wanted to recover an attitude—a way of making art that grew out of personal conviction rather than habit.
Four remarkably modern principles
The Pre-Raphaelites never issued a grand public manifesto, but their ideas can be distilled into four guiding principles. Remarkably, they still feel strikingly relevant today.
1. To have genuine ideas to express.
The first principle is almost shocking in its simplicity. Technique does not come first. Style does not come first. Technical mastery does not come first. The idea comes first.
A work of art should exist because the artist has something worth saying, not because a particular technique happens to be fashionable.
When I look at photographs today, the first question I ask is rarely which camera was used.
Instead, I ask:
What is this image trying to say?
That question is almost two centuries old, yet it may be more relevant now than ever.
2. To study Nature attentively, so as to know how to express them.
For the Pre-Raphaelites, “Nature” meant far more than landscapes. It meant reality itself—people, plants, light and materials. They observed the world with astonishing precision. Flowers were painted botanically accurately, fabrics behaved like real fabrics, and light fell exactly as it does in life. They were not obsessed with accuracy for its own sake. They believed that honesty begins with careful observation.
If you would like to see what they meant, look up John Everett Millais’ “Ophelia.” Do not focus first on the young woman. Look instead at the vegetation surrounding her. Almost every flower carries symbolic meaning, and every plant was painted with extraordinary botanical accuracy. A simple image search or a good art book immediately reveals why this painting remains one of the defining masterpieces of the movement.
For photographers, the lesson is beautifully simple. We should not photograph what we think we know. We should photograph what we actually see.
3. To sympathise with what is direct and serious and heartfelt in previous art, to the exclusion of what is conventional and self-parading and learned by rote.
This is probably the principle that resonates with me most strongly.
The Pre-Raphaelites did not want to imitate earlier masters. They wanted to understand why those works still possess such power. They searched for sincerity, emotional honesty and genuine conviction rather than convention or routine.
A wonderful example is Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s “Proserpine.” At first glance it appears to be simply the portrait of a beautiful woman. Yet anyone familiar with the ancient myth quickly discovers that almost every detail—the pomegranate, the light, even her expression—forms part of a much larger narrative. It is the kind of painting that rewards not the first glance, but the second and the third.
This is precisely why I study art history. I am not looking for templates. I am looking for roots. I continually ask myself whether my own photographs arise from genuine conviction or merely because I possess the technical ability to create them.
Perhaps that question matters even more today than it did in 1848. Billions of images are produced every day. Trends spread within hours. Algorithms increasingly influence what visual language becomes successful. All the more reason to return to our own artistic roots.
4. And most indispensable of all, to produce thoroughly good pictures and statues.
The final principle appears almost self-evident.
In reality, it is anything but.
The Pre-Raphaelites were not saying that good intentions are enough. A powerful idea deserves equally powerful craftsmanship. Art requires both. Thought without skill remains incomplete. Skill without thought becomes mere decoration.
If you want to see how seriously they took this principle, spend a few quiet minutes with William Holman Hunt’s “The Light of the World.” Almost nothing in that painting is accidental. Every object carries meaning. It demonstrates the difference between an image that is merely attractive and one that continues to engage viewers for generations.
More than beautiful women
Many people associate the Pre-Raphaelites with beautiful women, flowing hair, medieval costumes and romantic landscapes.
That is certainly part of the story. But it is only the surface.
Look more carefully and you will discover extraordinary layers of symbolism. Flowers tell stories. Colours carry meaning. Every gesture matters. Every glance has purpose. These paintings are not simply meant to be admired.
They are meant to be read. Perhaps that is the real reason they continue to fascinate us.
What can photographers learn from them?
Simply keep the four principles of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood in mind and then spend a few minutes scrolling through any social media feed.
The first question is:
Does this image actually have something original to say?
How many photographs can honestly answer yes? The second principle asks us to observe reality attentively.
Instead we often encounter the same poses, the same expressions, the same over-the-shoulder glance, the same artificial smile, the same duck face, the same filters and the same visual clichés repeated thousands of times.
The third principle asks whether we are creating something born from genuine conviction—or merely repeating what has already proven successful for others.
Only then comes the fourth principle:
Create a truly good picture.
Perhaps that order is the most remarkable lesson of all. Today we often begin with cameras, lenses, sensors, artificial intelligence or image editing software. The Pre-Raphaelites would probably have asked a different question first:
“What are you trying to say?”
Perhaps that is why I find this group of artists so compelling. Their manifesto was formulated in 1848, yet it sometimes feels like an answer to questions we have only begun asking in the twenty-first century.
This article is intentionally not an art history lecture. If it has sparked your curiosity, look up the paintings mentioned here or find them in a good book on nineteenth-century art. Spend a few minutes with each one. Resist the temptation to glance quickly and move on.
I suspect you will not only understand the Pre-Raphaelites better.
You may also begin to see your own photographs differently.
Because perhaps that is the greatest gift art history offers us. It does not simply teach us how artists worked in the past.
It helps us understand why we create images the way we do today. That is why looking back matters. Not out of nostalgia. But because strong images have roots.
And artists who understand their roots are more likely to create work that will endure.