Interview with OSGEMEOS

The twins’ creative process and the sense of being “One Entity

Born on the streets of São Paulo and now known around the world, the twin artists OSGEMEOS have built a universe where reality, memory, and imagination melt together into a singular realm they call Tritrez. Their hands move in such perfect sync that their work feels like the output of one consciousness, extending across murals, drawings, animation, and even music as they continue expanding their world. They grew up during the rise of hip-hop, in conversation with the streets, absorbing and shaping the culture. What do they see as the origin of their creative force?

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Ryosei Homma
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Shuji Goto, WATARI-UM, The Watari Museum of Contemporary Art

The twins’ creative process and the sense of being “One Entity”



──When you create together, do you divide roles in any way?

As twins, we’re pretty much the same entity. We have the same style, so you can’t tell who painted what. I know what he’s about to draw, and he instantly knows what I’m drawing. It might sound strange, but that’s really how it is. It’s not that we synced up over time; it’s been that way from the start. We grew up seeing the same world, breathing the same air, and sharing the same dreams.


New York, 2017, Photo: Martha Cooper

──Tell us about your background. What were you like as kids?

We were born and raised in São Paulo, and we were always drawing together. In the 80s, hip-hop culture exploded throughout the city. Breakdancing, rap, DJing… everything was happening around us. We started breaking too, but the moment we saw older kids spray-painting walls, we were totally captivated. The simple fact that “you can paint on a wall” blew our minds. We didn’t know anything about graffiti culture or its history yet. But at the B-boy hangout in São Bento station, people from other areas taught us what they knew, and slowly we understood the bigger picture of painting on walls. That was around 1985,1986.


──Is that when you seriously began painting on walls?

When we saw Subway Art, it clicked: “This is exactly what we want to do.” Then we watched the movies Beat Street and Breakin’ and realized graffiti was a full culture. We immediately started painting walls, and local writers taught us everything about tagging and graffiti basics. Once we stepped into that world, there was no way back. As kids we did everything: breaking, DJing, rapping, graffiti… hip-hop was our entire life.


──How well-known was American-style graffiti in Brazil at the time?

There were people using spray paint in the older generation, but not in lettering styles. It was more like freehand drawing or large roller pieces, similar to Haring or Basquiat. And we often saw political phrases painted around the city. The crew “Tupinãodá” were pioneers. They showed that painting on walls had real potential. But it wasn’t linked to hip-hop yet.


New York, 2017, Photo: Martha Cooper

──When you first started painting outside, did you encounter any difficulties?

Brazil in the early 80s was still under the shadow of dictatorship. Graffiti was heavily punished. Painting secretly at night was normal, and the police did whatever they wanted. It was dangerous, but also incredibly thrilling. The city almost felt like it was telling us to paint. We painted to speak with the streets. Because of that, we learned the city’s structure, its borders, how to move safely. Eventually we realized there was no specific law banning graffiti. It was a tiny loophole, but enough. We stopped hiding at night and started painting openly in the city center on Sunday afternoons. Other writers followed, and São Paulo developed its own tradition of Sunday street painting. Our goal was to show people that graffiti could be something positive for the city. Painting during the day made that easier to communicate. For places like trains we still had to paint at night, but daytime painting in public areas gradually became accepted.

Tritrez and the origins of their characters

──Your characters and worldbuilding feel very dreamlike. How did they emerge?

The characters feel like they were born with us. To explain it, we have to go back to memories from before birth. We remember a kind of dream-filled place. Our characters come from there. The wind, the sun, the colors, the movements of that world… we’ve carried those images since childhood, as if a movie of that place plays in our minds. We kept searching for the right style to express it, and gradually the answers took shape as we drew. We’ve always shared this strange sensation, like we both accessed the same vision. In the early 90s, we started writing a book, almost like a diary, to explore our roots and record the mythology of Tritrez. It was as if the “history” behind our drawings suddenly became visible. Childhood memories and new experiences constantly connected to it. Since those memories never run out, we’ve had no choice but to keep creating this story.


──How did your characters become what they are today?

We grew alongside them, and now they’re part of us. When we depict Tritrez, memories of childhood sensations return: the smell of the rain, wind, the landscapes, how the characters move, how their clothes sway… it all appears naturally. To find the perfect style, we experimented for years across many methods. We went through around 15 different styles before reaching the one we use today. Even the journey to the yellow characters was long. We believe deeply in these characters. Their clothing, environments, spirituality, posture, relationships… everything carries meaning. They’re tools for our imagination to converse with reality.


──So Tritrez and the real world are linked?

Tritrez has vibrant characters, stunning places, overwhelming nature, beautiful trees… a completely different magical world. It may look separate from reality, but that’s because it’s created entirely from imagination. For us, though, it’s everyday life. We live there, we come from there, and we feel naturally that we’ll return there when our lives end.


──You’ve created massive murals. Are there any you particularly remember?

The murals from the 90s are unforgettable. We spent about a month painting one piece filled with waterfalls and landscapes directly connected to Tritrez. Or rather, we were trying to get closer to Tritrez by painting it for long hours every day. Those works were truly special. Our first encounter with large-scale murals was in Germany, seeing the works of DAIM and LOOMIT. They were pioneers of full-facade murals. Later, around 2002, when we were invited to paint in Greece, we decided not to paint any background and left the raw concrete visible, placing only a giant character. That became the first major character-focused mural. The lack of background intensified the character’s presence. We never use projectors. Everything is done freehand. It sharpens our technique, and difficulty is what helps us grow.


──Tritrez’s style includes distinctive, thin, textured spray lines. You’re pioneers of that technique.

We’d always drawn with thin lines, so naturally we wondered whether we could do the same in graffiti. When we discovered Futura 2000’s work and the TCA crew from Paris, we realized thin lines, circles, and abstract forms were possible with spray paint. But in Brazil back then, there were no graffiti shops or cap choices. Spray cans were cheap automotive cans with terrible quality. So our thin, rough outlines weren’t created by special tools; they came from our fingers. By pressing the nozzle only slightly, controlling the paint at the brink of sputtering, we learned to produce delicate lines. Since we had no cap options, we learned to make thin lines with any cap. We even took different caps from supermarket products to test them. Growing up in the 80s and 90s with almost no proper materials actually helped develope and shape our style. We had to improvise, invent, and survive through creativity.


──Do you remember when you first encountered spray paint made for graffiti?

In 1999, when we went to Germany for the first time, seeing Molotow, Montana, MTN cans shocked us. But we didn’t know what existed there, so we had brought tons of Brazilian cans with us. Our first mural in Germany was entirely painted with Brazilian paint. People were amazed we could use that stuff. For us, bad materials were normal. The “proper” cans felt more surprising.


──How do you separate your street work from your museum work?

We just use different “tools” to express what’s inside us: animation, drawing, sculpture , large installations. The methods vary, but the core is the same. The exhibition space lets us translate our world into a three-dimensional environment. That’s not graffiti, though. Graffiti is illegal bombing and tagging on streets and trains. In museums, we’re constructing Tritrez in 3D, creating places people can immerse themselves in. It’s a chance to bring viewers closer to the origin of our world.


──In a past exhibition, you turned three-dimensional letters into furniture. It was striking.

Lettering is like architecture. It requires structure, beauty, style, and it carries a message. A name represents yourself. Once you paint it somewhere, the place is changed forever. Even if it gets buffed, the trace remains. That carries huge responsibility. Your name should appear in the right style, in the right environment. Even if someone dislikes graffiti, a good style can still reach people. It can change a kid’s life, or an older person’s life, even in small ways.

The essence of value and the viewer’s perspective

──How do you think about art and its value?

Value isn’t something we decide. It depends on how people look at it. Some only feel value when a work is in a museum or sells for a high price. But for us, value began in childhood. When we showed a drawing to our mom and she said “It’s beautiful,” that was value. Graffiti in the streets has value just by existing. Money doesn’t define it. Style, action, energy, history, the person who paints it… that’s enough. Value changes depending on how open your eyes are. Some people find value in museums; others find it in street bombing. For us, street graffiti itself holds immense value and we respect the street cuture a lot.


──Which artists influenced you?

Speto and Barry McGee were enormous influences. Speto stood out from the early 80s with a completely original style. That was rare in Brazil. Back in the 80’s our relationship literally began because we went to “fight” him after hearing someone was painting in our neighborhood. But when we saw his style, we were blown away and became instant friends. His originality and approach shaped our foundation. We met Barry in 1993. He shared skills and culture generously. He basically brought USA graffiti and bombing culture to Brazil.


──You also DJ and produce music, right?

We’ve been deeply involved with music since the early 80s. We started by collecting records, then were shocked by the DJ culture emerging around 1990. We stopped DJing for a while for various reasons, but returned around 2015 and now play many festivals and clubs. Eventually we realized that the music we wanted to hear had to be made by us, so we began producing it.


Created at MATRIX

──Does music influence your visual work?

e often listen to music while creating, but we also love listening to “natural sound” itself. At the studio, we sometimes work without music, just listening to wind and birds. The ocean is incredible too. Drawing by the sea slows time and brings memories back. The wind does the same. Sitting in the mountains, surrounded by the elements of nature, it feels like they speak directly to us, feeding our creativity. In our imagination is where all our work is born: drawings, music, animation. Being there feels less like São Paulo and more like being inside Tritrez.


──You came to Japan for this exhibition, and your talk show was completely packed. What impression do you have of the people and the culture here?

São Paulo has a huge Japanese community, but our sense of “Japan” is more personal and deep. The way Japanese people stop and look carefully at details is truly special. It gives us great encouragement. Japan has a culture of drawing from childhood, through manga and art education, so people are naturally sensitive to detail. In São Paulo, people can easily lose that sense. We grew up near Liberdade, the Japanese district, and were obsessed with tokusatsu on TV in the 80s. We built cardboard sets inspired by it. That shaped how we create space. We also have memories of going to Liberdade with our father on Sundays to look for books. And there’s a personal connection too: when we were babies, our mother couldn’t produce milk, and Japanese neighbors donated milk for us. We were small and had health problems, so that helped us survive. Because of those experiences, our affection and connection to Japan are profound.


──What do you think of the styles of younger graffiti writers today?

New styles still make our hearts race. When someone has a unique style, you can see their commitment and the new things they’re trying to create. Train graffiti, especially, is irresistible. When we see a city covered in tags, it feels like hearing the “voice of the streets.” Regulations are getting stricter everywhere, but graffiti doesn’t stop. Writers always find a way. Even with strict security, sensors, cameras, people keep painting. The reason is simple: this culture always moves to the next generation. Every era has those who continue, and keep the history alive.


──What do you want to accomplish next?

We’ve always wanted to make a film. We’re planning an animated film about our own history, and the project has already begun. The animation playing at the Watari-um exhibition was made with a Brazilian team. We’ve always thought of our drawings as “moving things,” so animation feels natural. It’s difficult work, but perfectly aligned with our universe. Our drawings already function like storyboards. A large film requires a big team. Our current goal is to create a full-scale film.


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