by Stephanie Chatfield
Like his fellow Pre-Raphaelites, Dante Gabriel Rossetti used live models in his art — often drawing from a familiar circle of family, friends, and lovers. Over the course of his career, the same faces appear again and again, evolving into visual motifs that now feel inseparable from his name.
Yet as iconic as they are, these women are sometimes misidentified — especially Elizabeth Siddal and Alexa Wilding, who are frequently confused online. This post offers a brief overview of the women who inspired Rossetti’s work. Consider it an introduction rather than a comprehensive guide, but one that highlights just how varied and fascinating these muses truly were.
The Rossetti Family: His First Models

Rossetti’s earliest works feature his own family members. In The Girlhood of Mary Virgin (1849), his mother Frances Polidori Rossetti posed as Saint Anne, while his sister, poet Christina Rossetti, modeled as the Virgin Mary. Christina would again play Mary in Ecce Ancilla Domina (1850), where Rossetti’s brother William Michael Rossetti appeared as the angel Gabriel.

Pop culture has muddled these facts a bit — thanks to dramatic license in the BBC series Desperate Romantics, many mistakenly believe Elizabeth Siddal posed as Mary in these early pieces. In truth, Rossetti didn’t meet Siddal until later.
Elizabeth Siddal: Muse, Artist, Tragic Icon

Elizabeth Siddal entered the Pre-Raphaelite world around 1849–50, first posing for Walter Deverell’s Twelfth Night. She’s perhaps most famously immortalized in Ophelia by John Everett Millais, but her relationship with Rossetti soon took center stage.
In the 1850s, Siddal began modeling exclusively for Rossetti, who became her mentor and encouraged her own pursuits in painting and poetry. Their love story was passionate, creative — and tragic. The couple married in 1860, but Siddal’s health deteriorated. After the stillbirth of their daughter and increasing dependency on laudanum, she died of an overdose in 1862 at just 32.

Grief-stricken, Rossetti famously buried a manuscript of his poems with her. Years later, those poems were exhumed for publication — a gothic footnote that has only deepened the mythos around her.

Artist Ford Madox Brown once described Rossetti’s endless sketches of Siddal as a “monomania.” Even after her death, echoes of her remain in his art, and while other muses followed, Siddal was the first to be painted with such intensity — the Beatrice to his Dante.
Annie Miller: The Rebel Model

Annie Miller was discovered by William Holman Hunt, who pulled her from a life of poverty and arranged for her education. When Hunt traveled abroad, he warned both Miller and Rossetti not to work together.
They ignored him.

Rossetti painted Miller during the 1850s, a choice that strained his relationship with Siddal. Miller was bold and independent, and her rebellious spirit made her a dynamic figure within the circle—though her time as Rossetti’s muse was brief.

Fanny Cornforth: A New Style Emerges

Fanny Cornforth entered Rossetti’s life in 1858, and with her came a dramatic shift in his artistic style. Unlike previous muses, Fanny was earthy, humorous, and sensuous. Though she was often described (dismissively) as a prostitute, she became one of the most significant figures in his later career.

In Bocca Baciata (1859), Cornforth’s image marked a turning point. Rossetti began focusing on voluptuous single female figures, framed by symbols of beauty—jewelry, flowers, rich fabrics. His art became more sensual, more symbolic, more personal.
Cornforth remained close to Rossetti for years, even serving as his housekeeper later in life. Despite harsh judgment from critics and even Rossetti’s friends, their relationship seems to have been a steady one.
Jane Morris: The Enigmatic Stunner

Jane Burden, later Jane Morris, was discovered by Rossetti and Edward Burne-Jones at a theatre performance in Oxford. Instantly captivated, Rossetti called her a “stunner.” Her deep features and quiet intensity would go on to define an entire phase of his art.
Yet Rossetti’s love for Jane was complicated. After their initial meeting, he returned to care for the ailing Siddal. In the meantime, Jane became engaged to William Morris, who likely viewed himself as her protector and admirer of Rossetti’s work.

After Siddal’s death, Rossetti entered a period of artistic and emotional turmoil. He began drinking, struggled with depression—and fell deeply in love with Jane. Their relationship, though constrained by Jane’s marriage, became a powerful creative force. She inspired The House of Life, his sonnet sequence, as well as some of his most iconic paintings.
Rossetti even exhumed the poems he had buried with Siddal to include them in this new collection—blurring the lines between past grief and present passion.

Alexa Wilding: The Most Misidentified Muse

Of all Rossetti’s models, Alexa Wilding is perhaps the most frequently confused — often mistaken online for Elizabeth Siddal. Tall and striking, Rossetti noticed her on the street and immediately asked her to sit for him.
Though she modeled during the same period as Jane Morris, the two looked very different. Rossetti’s artistic signature—full lips, strong arms, and elongated necks—blurred their features across paintings. This makes identification tricky, but also speaks to how he transformed each woman’s uniqueness into his evolving visual language.

One common mistake is the belief that A Vision of Fiammetta features Wilding—it actually depicts Marie Spartali Stillman. Another is that The Blessed Damozel shows Siddal, given its theme of a departed lover in heaven. In truth, the model is Wilding.

More Than Muses: Rossetti’s Legacy of Women
The women who inspired Rossetti’s art were far from a singular ‘type.’ They came from different backgrounds, brought different energies, and challenged Victorian ideals of beauty. Whether they were models, artists, lovers, or friends, each helped shape the Rossetti woman — an image at once strong, sensuous, and unforgettable.
What I love most is how Rossetti celebrated unconventional beauty. His muses weren’t porcelain-perfect — they were distinct, real, and complex. He painted them not to idealize, but to elevate.
Each of them deserves to be remembered for more than just a face on a canvas.
More about Rossetti