Today we’d like to introduce you to Rachael Sharpe.
Alright, so thank you so much for sharing your story and insight with our readers. To kick things off, can you tell us a bit about how you got started?
Like many kids, I loved spending my time drawing. But I didn’t start actively focusing on it until I was 13.
The night my mom died, I was struggling to sleep. I turned on the little TV in my room, and Cartoon Network’s Toonami was rerunning episodes of Dragon Ball Z. One character stood out to me — someone who had suffered the loss of their entire planet and family. I remember thinking, I have to be more like that guy if I’m going to survive losing my mom.
So, I stayed up that night drawing versions of myself — imagining who I could become in this “wrestling soap opera” anime world (as my older sister called it). If you’ve ever watched Dragon Ball Z, you know half of it is fighting enemies and the other half is training to fight them. I took that to heart. Almost every night, I’d stay up alternating between sit-ups and practicing my drawing skills.
I failed several math classes in high school because I was always drawing instead of paying attention in class. But honestly, I knew I’d never need that crap — and I was right, lol.
In my late teens and early twenties, I stopped making art completely. I’d seen too many people online who were way more talented than me. I counted myself out.
Instead, I got a degree in psychology, moved abroad to Korea for four years, and traveled across Asia. I tried to find a partner, build a career, and settle down. From the outside, my life looked great — I had adventures, cool Facebook posts, and a solid “highlight reel.” But inside, I felt empty.
A part of me still desperately wanted to make art. It was like this aching hole in my chest. But I had convinced myself it was too late. I was nearing 30. I wasn’t talented enough. Why torture myself (and the world) with mediocrity? Every drawing felt like proof that I wasn’t good enough — as an artist or a person.
I was very dramatic, but back then, everything felt black and white.
Then in my early 30s, everything fell apart again.
I had no job. No place to live. No close friends nearby. I moved in with my uncle and shared a bedroom with my 16-year-old cousin. At my age, it wasn’t a cute look. I felt like I was too old to have messed up this badly.
But it broke me in a good way — in a way that was long overdue. I realized I’d been trying so hard to become some idealized version of myself that I never gave myself space to just exist. To grieve. To process the pain of losing so much so young.
So I got back in touch with teen Rachael — the one who stayed up drawing Dragon Ball Z fan characters and doing sit-ups in the dark. She had more wisdom than I gave her credit for.
I started drawing again. Slowly. People encouraged me to sell my art, so I did. I began attending markets, meeting patrons, honing my skills — and realizing I could actually turn this into something real.
That teen girl had always been right. Dragon Ball Z was right:
Train hard enough for any battle, and you’re going to win it.
Can you talk to us a bit about the challenges and lessons you’ve learned along the way. Looking back would you say it’s been easy or smooth in retrospect?
Well, it wasn’t as easy as just listening to my teen self and picking up a pencil again.
I had a lot of work to do — especially around regulating my nervous system. Even thinking about pursuing art again felt terrifying. It wasn’t just a hobby anymore; it was a risk. A vulnerable one. The idea of letting myself — or anyone else — see my work again made my skin crawl.
By that point, I was old enough to know plenty of people who had tried to make it as artists and couldn’t make it work. But I also knew some who did. The odds weren’t impossible… just unfair.
This world is not a kind place to artists, especially beginners.
You’re either an “Artist”… or a cringe-fail hack.
There’s no in-between.
But the truth is: if you ever want to become an Artist, you have to embrace being a cringe-fail hack first.
For me, that journey also meant confronting my own mental health. I was dealing with chronic insomnia, unstable moods, and a baseline level of panic that felt like it lived in my bones.
I had tried everything I was supposed to:
Diet changes
Journaling
Somatic experiencing
Hypnosis
Meditation
Traveling
Exercise
Spirituality
Jesus, Buddha, the Flying Spaghetti Monster
Dancing
Singing
A thousand different diets
Balancing my chakras
Lying in the sun
Touching grass
The list goes on. But at the end of the day, those things just weren’t enough.
Eventually, I started taking psychiatric medication. A mood stabilizer. Something for sleep. And when it kicked in — really kicked in — my skills jumped overnight.
So did my confidence.
And so did my compassion for myself.
Because I realized: it wasn’t a moral failing or a lack of discipline that had messed me up. It wasn’t that I hadn’t tried hard enough. I had tried so hard it nearly broke me.
What had been holding me back was a brain flooded with trauma and chemicals, panicking over things that didn’t deserve all that fear.
And once I calmed that panic?
I could finally start becoming who I had always wanted to be.
Alright, so let’s switch gears a bit and talk business. What should we know about your work?
I’m best known for my expressive portraits of women and the way I incorporate botanical elements—especially flowers—into my work. I often use white Posca marker over oil or acrylic paint to add fine illustrative details, giving my pieces a distinctive graphic quality. My work blends emotion, symbolism, and beauty, often drawing on themes of nature, mythology, and feminine resilience.
What I’m most proud of isn’t a single piece or accomplishment—it’s that I didn’t give up. There were times when I had no money, no clear direction, and friendships that had fallen away. Hanging on didn’t feel noble—it felt necessary. I had already tried silencing this part of myself, and it nearly broke me. So I kept creating because I couldn’t live any other way.
Something that sets me apart is my openness. I speak honestly about trauma, grief, and mental illness because I want people who feel stuck or broken to know that healing is possible. It’s not always logical or linear, but the heart has its own intelligence—and sometimes, you just have to trust it.
I also teach art, which has become an incredibly meaningful part of my life. My main goal as a teacher isn’t just to pass on technique—it’s to help kids fall in love with making art. If they leave my class feeling more confident in expressing themselves, then I’ve done my job.
Is there anything else you’d like to share with our readers?
I think I’d just like to say—wherever you are in your journey, it’s okay if it doesn’t look like anyone else’s. The world often pushes us to be polished and certain, but so much of life—especially creative life—is messy, uncertain, and deeply personal. I’ve learned that following the quiet pull of your heart, even when it doesn’t make sense on paper, can lead to places more meaningful than anything you could plan.
And if you’ve been through pain or loss or feel like you’re starting over—know that those experiences don’t disqualify you. They can become part of your strength. My art is rooted in that truth. I want people to feel less alone when they look at my work.
Right now, I’m working on a mural for Palatka Coffee Co., which I’m really excited about. You can find more of my work and follow along with current projects on Instagram at @hypnoti.cat. And as always—support your local artists. Buy the print, share the post, come to the show. It really does make a difference.
Contact Info:
- Instagram: https://Instagram.com/hypnoti.cat
