The Three Marys 

Curator: Right, let’s gather around “The Three Marys.” I find it arresting—a very still kind of picture; a little pool of solemn quiet amidst the noise of everything else. It looks medieval in temper, don't you think? The faces seem so gently inward, their eyes not really focusing on anything visible. Editor: It does possess that unique tranquility associated with Burne-Jones, who painted this evocative scene using oil on canvas. Looking closer, I'm struck by how he captures not only a medieval sensibility, as you said, but also draws upon deeper wells of iconic representation. Those haloes, for instance, though subtle, are incredibly potent. Curator: Oh, definitely. Halos have always signified some kind of inner radiance, a conduit to the divine, haven't they? These feel weightless almost. The way their robes are rendered, it’s as if light itself is clothing them, rather than mere fabric. Is that why we are supposed to look at them like holy people? Editor: Exactly. Note also how he individualizes each Mary—Magdalene with her ointment jar, for example. Burne-Jones, while firmly rooted in the Pre-Raphaelite movement, infuses such works with layered symbolism. We're seeing sorrow, contemplation, and a deep faith, made all the more resonant by how Burne-Jones uses a somewhat subdued palette of golds, reds, and greens. Lilies always represent innocence or rebirth, so I understand why Mary holds this flower at the scene's center. Curator: It’s a somber group portrait but their faces don’t betray grief. Instead, it’s… expectant? Editor: Yes! Perhaps a vigil. Waiting…believing, and this gives a deep emotional depth. You know, it makes me consider how the symbolism speaks to cycles of death and rebirth and memory – the hope and consolation art has provided us, time after time, with beauty for survival and resistance. Curator: Thinking about the symbols really makes one question how time collapses through art; this image becomes a meditation, something both very intimate and massively shared.