Meet Zishwan Shao

Today we’d like to introduce you to Zishwan Shao.

Hi Zishwan, we’re thrilled to have a chance to learn your story today. So, before we get into specifics, maybe you can briefly walk us through how you got to where you are today?
I’ve been passionate about drawing since I was a kid. I think the real turning point was in high school, when I joined an art program and completed a series of twelve oil paintings, all built from my own ideas. Finishing something that large, entirely on my own terms, was the first time I realized creating from my own thinking wasn’t just something I enjoyed — it was something I could actually do well. That’s what took me to New York to study illustration.

Since then, the work itself has changed more than I expected. Early on, almost everything I made was about my own inner world — a way of understanding my own loneliness. Over time, that’s shifted outward. I’m far more interested now in the people and ordinary moments around me — a crowded train, someone waiting on a platform — than I am in my own inner life. I don’t see that as losing something personal, just as the same instinct aimed in a new direction.

I’m sure it wasn’t obstacle-free, but would you say the journey has been fairly smooth so far?
Not particularly, and the struggles came from a couple of different places. In college, I put a lot of pressure on myself to find “my style” quickly, and became overly critical of my own choices — worried about whether people would like or remember the work. Eventually that pressure built up enough that even starting a drawing felt hard, and my relationship with my own work turned unhealthy for a while.

There was a quieter struggle underneath that, too. At some point I decided I wanted to stop narrating my own inner world so directly — and then I genuinely didn’t know what to draw instead. My inner world had always been the material I reached for without thinking; once I stepped away from it, there was nothing immediately there to replace it. That directionless stretch was harder, in some ways, than the pressure around style. I’m past the worst of both of those now, and I think the struggle actually clarified what I want from the work today: something people can recognize themselves in.

Appreciate you sharing that. What else should we know about what you do?
What do you do, what do you specialize in, what are you known for?

I work in illustration that’s conceptual in a specific sense — I use composition and a few deliberate elements to hand the viewer a feeling directly, rather than a puzzle to decode. My palette tends to be muted and slightly worn, with hand-drawn texture kept visible — pencil grain, imperfect linework.

Lately that instinct has pulled me toward small, ordinary moments — a crowded subway car, someone waiting on a platform, the rush hour of a train station. I want someone to look at a piece and feel an immediate sense of familiarity, not have to first figure out what it means. Feeling recognized matters more to me than being clever.

What are you most proud of?

That my style stays recognizable across very different techniques — a loose pencil sketch, a flat digital illustration, a print-style piece all read as coming from the same hand. Keeping a consistent voice while staying technically flexible is something I’ve worked hard at, and it’s satisfying to see it hold together across such a varied body of work.

What sets you apart from others?

Less a single stylistic trick, more a habit I keep returning to: I rarely let a face be fully seen. Figures are turned away, blurred, or left blank on purpose. Combined with scenes pulled from ordinary life, it creates images that feel like they could be anyone’s memory, not a specific illustrated character — which is the “I’ve been there” feeling I’m going for.

Can you talk to us about how you think about risk?
Honestly, I don’t think my biggest risk was something I chose on purpose — it was something I let happen by not paying attention. The warning signs showed up as early as sophomore year: I already had periods where I couldn’t get myself to draw. At the time, I didn’t read that as burnout, but as not being good enough, not working hard enough, so I pushed through instead of asking why it was happening.

3 years later, that caught up with me completely; I reached a point where I couldn’t even open drawing software. Not “didn’t feel inspired” — literally couldn’t make myself open the app. That’s when I realized that what I’d been ignoring for two years wasn’t a lack of discipline; it was exhaustion I’d never let myself acknowledge.

If there’s one thing I’d want to remind other people in the creative industry, it’s to pay closer attention to their own state — burnout can feel like not being good enough, but it isn’t the same thing. And when you hit a setback, remember that you got into this because you loved drawing in the first place. Don’t rush to walk away from it — give it more time.

Pricing:

• Digital illustration commissions typically start at $80 for a single-character piece and increase based on complexity and scope Pricing for full scenes or commercial use is quoted individually — feel free to reach out via email for a specific estimate

Contact Info:

• Website: https://sherryillustration.squarespace.com/
• Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/sherryszx_art

Image Credits
All illustrations by Zixuan (Zishwan)