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John William Waterhouse: Myth, Magic, and the Pre-Raphaelite Dream

A guide to the great Waterhouse paintings: The Lady of Shalott, Hylas and the Nymphs, and Circe, with the myths behind them and where they belong at home.
John William Waterhouse: Myth, Magic, and the Pre-Raphaelite Dream - Canvas Classics

The Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood was founded in 1848. John William Waterhouse was born the following year. He arrived a generation too late to join the movement he is now filed under, spent his early career painting Roman subjects in a completely different style, and only found the work he is remembered for when he was nearly forty.

What he found was a formula nobody has improved on since: a myth, a woman at the exact moment of decision, and an English wood or riverbank standing in for the ancient world. Everything in this guide comes from our John William Waterhouse collection.

Hylas and the Nymphs by John William Waterhouse, 1896, framed canvas print in a gold frame
Manchester Art Gallery took this off the wall for a week in 2018 as a deliberate prompt for public debate, then rehung it. The response was loud enough to make national news.

The Late Arrival

Head Of A Woman by John William Waterhouse, 1896, framed canvas print in a dark bronze frame
The same face recurs across thirty years of his work, and nobody has ever established who she was.

Waterhouse was born in Rome in 1849 to two English painters, and spent his first years in a house full of wet canvases before the family came home to London. His parents called him Nino. He grew up assisting in his father's studio, entered the Royal Academy schools at twenty one, and made his early living on carefully researched scenes of Roman daily life.

None of that predicts what happened next. Somewhere in the mid 1880s he abandoned archaeology for enchantment, and his brushwork loosened at the same time. Head Of A Woman (1896) is a small study of the face he painted more than any other, and it shows how quickly and freely he could work when nobody was watching.

Flora and the Zephyrs by John William Waterhouse, 1898, framed canvas print in a gold frame
The west winds arrive as pale boys tangled in blossom. Waterhouse rarely painted men, and when he did they tend to be losing.

Calling him a Pre-Raphaelite is technically wrong and practically useful. He never met the original Brotherhood as a working peer, but he took their saturated colour, their literary subjects and their refusal of academic gloom, and carried all three into the twentieth century. Flora and the Zephyrs (1898) is that inheritance in one canvas.


The Lady of Shalott

The Lady of Shalott by John William Waterhouse, 1888, framed canvas print in a gold frame
Three candles stand at the prow and two have already blown out. Waterhouse is counting down the minutes she has left.
The Lady of Shalott by John William Waterhouse framed and photographed on the workbench in the Canvas Classics workshop
And the same painting, framed on our bench.

The Lady of Shalott (1888) is the painting that made him. Tennyson's poem gives a woman cursed to watch the world only as reflections in a mirror; she looks directly at Lancelot, the mirror cracks, and she takes a boat downriver to Camelot knowing she will die before she arrives. Waterhouse chose the moment she lets go of the chain.

Every detail is doing work. The tapestry she wove of the world she was not allowed to see trails over the side into the water. Her mouth is open, because in the poem she is singing. Henry Tate bought the painting and gave it to the nation, which is why it hangs in London.

Juliet by John William Waterhouse, 1898, framed canvas print in a dark bronze frame
Painted almost entirely in reds and golds, with the face kept deliberately cool against them.

Literature stayed his source for the rest of his life. Juliet (1898) takes Shakespeare, and shows the difference between an illustration and a painting: nothing in it tells you the plot, only the temperature of a person about to make a decision.


The Enchantresses

Waterhouse's great subject is a woman with power in a room with a man who has underestimated her. He returned to it for thirty years, and it is the reason his work reads as modern to audiences who find most Victorian painting airless.

Circe Offering the Cup to Odysseus by John William Waterhouse, 1891, framed canvas print in a gold frame
Odysseus appears only as a small reflection in the mirror behind her. He is in his own story as a detail.

Circe Offering the Cup to Odysseus (1891) is the sharpest composition he ever built. Circe sits enthroned and frontal, holding the drugged cup out toward the viewer, so you are put in Odysseus's position and offered the poison directly.

Circe Invidiosa by John William Waterhouse, 1892, framed canvas print in a dark bronze frame
A tall, narrow canvas built almost entirely from one poisonous green. It has hung in Adelaide since 1892.

He painted her again the next year. Circe Invidiosa (1892) catches Circe poisoning a pool out of jealousy, pouring the potion straight down the centre of a very tall canvas. It is one of the few paintings in the collection built for a narrow vertical wall.

La Belle Dame Sans Merci by John William Waterhouse, 1893, framed canvas print in a gold frame
She is pulling the knight down by his own helmet strap, using her hair as the rope.
La Belle Dame Sans Merci by John William Waterhouse framed in gold and photographed on the workbench in the Canvas Classics workshop
And the same painting, framed on our bench.

La Belle Dame Sans Merci (1893) illustrates a Keats ballad of 1819 about a knight who meets a fairy woman in a meadow and never recovers. Waterhouse loved Keats and returned to him repeatedly, including for Lamia and the Soldier (1905), in which a serpent has taken the form of a woman and the discarded skin is still visible at her feet.

The Magic Circle by John William Waterhouse, 1886, framed canvas print in a gold frame
Bought for the nation the same year it was painted, which for a thirty seven year old was close to official coronation.

The Magic Circle (1886) was the breakthrough: a sorceress drawing a protective ring in the dirt with a sickle, ravens watching, a fire smoking at her feet. The Sorceress (about 1911 to 1915) is the same idea near the end of his life, and The Crystal Ball (about 1902) is the domestic version, a woman alone in a tower room with a book of magic open beside her.

The Sorceress by John William Waterhouse, about 1911-1915, framed canvas print in a gold frame
Painted in his sixties, with the brushwork looser and the colour warmer than anything from the 1880s.

These are the Waterhouse pictures that anchor a dark, bookish room better than almost anything else in print, and we built a whole guide around that idea in our dark academia wall art guide.


The Greek Myths

The painting at the top of this page is the most argued about picture he ever made. Hylas and the Nymphs (1896) shows a crewman of the Argo sent ashore to fetch water and met at the pool by seven nymphs who are about to pull him under. Waterhouse gives every one of them the same face, and that repetition is what makes the picture unsettling. His smaller Hylas And The Nymphs Study (about 1896) works out the same arrangement at a size that fits an ordinary wall.

Ulysses and the Sirens by John William Waterhouse, 1891, framed canvas print in a gold frame
Waterhouse painted the sirens as birds with women's heads, following ancient Greek vase painting.

Ulysses and the Sirens (1891) is the most researched painting he made and the least comfortable. He had read his sources properly, so you get harpies crowding a boat while a bound man strains at the mast. It is genuinely alarming and it makes a superb, unexpected choice above a long sideboard.

Echo and Narcissus by John William Waterhouse, 1903, framed canvas print in a gold frame
The narcissus flowers that the boy will become are already growing along the bank beside him.

Echo and Narcissus (1903) splits the canvas between two people who cannot reach each other: she can only repeat what others say, he can only look at himself. Waterhouse puts a clear diagonal of water between them. His preparatory Study Echo (1903) shows how much of the final pose he had settled before touching the main canvas.

A Mermaid by John William Waterhouse, 1900, framed canvas print in a gold frame
He submitted this as his diploma work on becoming a full Royal Academician, so the Academy has never been allowed to sell it.

A Mermaid (1900) is the gentlest picture in this section and the one people fall for fastest. A mermaid combs her hair on a shingle beach, entirely alone, with no sailor in sight and nothing to be afraid of. For once nobody in a Waterhouse painting is about to die.


Roses, Gardens, and the Quiet Pictures

Gathering Flowers In A Devonshire Garden by John William Waterhouse, 1892, framed canvas print in a dark bronze frame
Painted the same year as Circe Invidiosa, which tells you he could switch registers completely between one canvas and the next.
Gathering Flowers In A Devonshire Garden by John William Waterhouse framed and photographed on the workbench in the Canvas Classics workshop
And the same painting, framed on our bench.

Not every Waterhouse is a curse or a drowning, and the quiet ones are the easiest to live with. Gathering Flowers In A Devonshire Garden (1892) is exactly what its title promises, painted with the same seriousness he gave to Circe.

The Soul of the Rose by John William Waterhouse, 1908, framed canvas print in a gold frame
The title comes from Tennyson's Maud. It is also sold under the name My Sweet Rose, and both are period titles.

The Soul of the Rose (1908) is his most reproduced image after the Lady of Shalott, and for good reason. A woman leans into a rose on a warm wall with her eyes closed. There is no story and no threat, only the act of smelling something properly, and it works in a bedroom in a way none of the enchantresses do.

Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May by John William Waterhouse, 1908, framed canvas print in a gold frame
The title is the opening line of a Robert Herrick poem from 1648 about how little time anyone has. Waterhouse painted the subject twice.

Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May (1908) is the summary of his late work: girls picking flowers in strong sun, and a title that quietly reminds you the flowers are already dying. He kept working until cancer stopped him, and he died in 1917 with a garden painting still unfinished on the easel.


Where Waterhouse Belongs at Home

Hylas And The Nymphs Study by John William Waterhouse, about 1896, framed canvas print in a gold frame
A study for the painting at the top of this page, and a much easier thing to hang in a small room.

Waterhouse rewards a warm wall. Sage, clay, deep green and old plaster all suit him; cool grey does not, because his shadows are brown and grey turns them muddy. Gold frames are the safe default given how much of his colour sits in the amber range.

Scale is the other decision. The narrative pictures need enough size to read as a scene, so give the Lady of Shalott or Ulysses and the Sirens a wall of their own. The studies and the flower pictures are happy small and in company, which makes the Hylas study the smart pick for a hallway or a stairwell where a full narrative canvas would be wasted.

For context on what his contemporaries were doing while he painted myth in a London studio, our Monet guide covers the painters who went outdoors instead. The Lady of Shalott and Van Gogh's Cafe Terrace at Night are the same year, 1888, which is one of art history's better coincidences and worth a look in our Van Gogh guide.


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Frequently Asked Questions

Was Waterhouse actually a Pre-Raphaelite?

The Brotherhood formed in 1848, a year before he was born, and had broken up long before he found his subject. He is usually called a modern Pre-Raphaelite, because he revived their colour and their literary subjects a generation later.

Which Waterhouse suits a bedroom?

The Soul of the Rose and Gathering Flowers In A Devonshire Garden are the calm ones, warm and low on drama. Save Circe, Lamia and Ulysses and the Sirens for a study, a hallway or a living room where you want the room to have an argument in it.

How faithful are the colours?

Waterhouse is demanding to reproduce because so much of his effect sits in narrow steps of green and amber. We print from high resolution museum open access files with archival pigment inks on cotton blend canvas, then stretch and frame by hand. The bench photographs above are our own finished pieces.

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