ROCKETGIRL is a UK-based artist known for fusing mythic allegory with visceral, abstract “Post-Iconic Figuration.” Her work orbits themes of resilience, femininity, and transformation, often depicting the body as a battlefield where chaos and control collide. She is known for her signature eye obscuration flashes. Her practice blends classical oil technique with contemporary abstraction, creating images that feel timeless, dangerous, and emotionally charged. She has sold out multiple collections across chains and worked on collabs with brands in the space such as Redbull and Gate.io.
Oil painting is the foundation for her, “the real trance state and the place where I feel I can put my emotional impact the most.” But digital work is deeply tied to her process because it removes fear. “If I screw it up in paint, I can photograph it and fix small things digitally, which means I paint with more freedom and less panic.” She also enjoys mixed media digital work which uses collage, ai and digital painting in myriad combinations. In practice, most of the time the physical painting remains the truth of the piece. She’s only minted maybe two works that were meaningfully different from the physical original. Usually edits are minimal, “tiny corrections, fidelity, balance.” For a long time she did her signature eye flashes digitally because it needed a steadier hand than her more expressive painting style, but she’s now worked out a technique for doing them in paint too.
THE SERAPH began as her only self-portrait and has since lived multiple lives across chains. It started as something intensely private. She painted it during a period when she wasn’t feeling herself, “a dark emotional dip that I recognized, and I knew I needed to get painting again, not strictly working in digital.” She stared at a blank canvas for weeks, then one day she just went, “Right, enough,” got the mirror out, grabbed the few colours she had, and the painting arrived in a kind of trance. “It’s also the only time I’ve made something that was literally a self-portrait even though so much of my work is self-portraiture in other ways.” Seeing it transform across chains has made it feel like more than a single entity. “It’s become something preserved, something that can be linked across my worlds (ETH and Bitcoin) almost like a portal. That idea genuinely excites me: connecting the same work through different environments, while keeping it permanent.”
This work is deeply connected to loss, memory, and honoring someone who never got to collect it, and that reality changed everything. A collector she genuinely respected, “someone well liked, young, building her own company,” wanted to buy the work. They’d agreed on everything and it was off the market while she was moving. Then she went quiet, which didn’t feel like her, and later she heard she’d passed away in an accident. “That hit hard. Not because of the sale, but because my last messages to her were mundane logistics. After that, I didn’t feel comfortable putting the piece back out into the open market like nothing happened. It made the work feel like it carried a responsibility, not just a price.” “So this release isn’t just about distributing artwork, it’s about handling something with care.”
Although she’s created extensively on Bitcoin before, this project feels especially intimate. Bitcoin, for her, “makes you take the moment seriously. On ETH, if something goes wrong, you can fix it, on Bitcoin, it’s done. I remember how nervous I was on my first inscription because it felt final.” THE SERAPH already had weight: it pulled her out of a dark stretch, it’s her only direct self-portrait, and it’s tied to someone she associates with loss and memory. “Putting that onto Bitcoin, where it becomes immutable, felt aligned with what the piece already is.” She’s also cautious of her release cadence on BTC. “I’ve purposely held back because I want my best work there and a distinct direction. This felt like a work worthy of that level of permanence.”
Breaking the original 1/1 into 25 fragments that each stand alone yet belong to a whole was both structural and symbolic. “What I love is that the fragments genuinely read as their own paintings. When I saw them, I was shocked in the best way, each one stands on its own and the detail still holds in unity.” Symbolically, “it mirrors something real: you can’t own a whole person. People can collect pieces, moments, sections of a story, but not the entire source. I also like that it invites multiple collectors into one work without flattening it into a standard edition format. It’s participation without dilution.”
The final stitched inscription exceeds Bitcoin’s typical size constraints and becomes something physically monumental on-chain. For ROCKETGIRL, “scale is emotional for me, not just technical. The painting itself is big in presence, and I like the idea that the on-chain form can be physically monumental too, while still being constructed from something elegantly minimal.” “And honestly, there’s a kind of awe in that wizardry: fragments becoming a restored whole, and the whole becoming something that exists in a permanent way. It turns scale into a statement and I love that.”
This drop embeds lineage, metadata, and provenance directly on-chain, and that matters deeply to her. “We’re watching in real time what happens when work isn’t truly preserved when marketplaces or hosting goes away and the art becomes vulnerable.” “I want my Bitcoin releases to be special, but I also want them to be safe, traceable, permanent and anchored. The story is part of the work, and the ability to follow that lineage matters to me because it protects both the piece and the context that gave it meaning.”
Collectors who mint a fragment also receive an edition tied to the restored whole. What she hopes that relationship feels like is simple and intentional: “I want it to feel like you’re holding a real piece of something larger and that your participation activates the full image, not just your portion of it.” “You get a fragment that stands alone, but you’re also connected back to the restored whole. That link is the point: ownership isn’t only possession, it’s involvement in preserving and completing a story.”
If THE SERAPH is encountered decades from now, without context or backstory, she hopes it still creates something visceral. “I hope it still reads as a moment of crossing, a passage through something heavy into something clearer. That’s what it was for me: relief, a wave of release, like stepping over a chasm.” “Even without the backstory, I want the work to carry that charge, a sense of human presence, intensity, and survival. Something that holds. Pieces of me.”
