Constructing a Visual Language
A figure built from intertwining ribbons can appear solid and fragile at once. In Otto Schade’s work, those bands become a means of constructing bodies, objects and narratives, giving familiar subjects an unexpected complexity. Elsewhere, silhouettes and vivid sunsets draw viewers towards images whose beauty conceals a more unsettling commentary on war, consumerism and contemporary society.
The Chilean artist, also known as Osch, began painting in 1996 while studying architecture in Concepción. His architectural career later took him to Berlin and London, where the street art of Shoreditch encouraged him to bring his work into public space. Painting gradually became his primary focus, developing into a practice spanning murals, studio work and sculpture.
Schade’s architectural background remains present in his understanding of scale, structure and the relationship between an artwork and its surroundings. His ribbon language also grew from an earlier sculptural project, Remolino del Bío-Bío, connecting his interest in three-dimensional form with the images he would later paint on walls. Influenced by surrealism, he uses visual contradictions and metaphor to leave room for discovery rather than deliver a fixed message.
In this interview, Schade discusses finding an identity within London’s street art scene, responding to the communities around his murals and accepting the temporary nature of public work. He also considers how his ribbon forms might develop through larger sculptures and immersive installations.
You trained as an architect in Chile before moving further into painting and street art. Do you still find yourself thinking architecturally when you build an image or plan a mural?
Not exactly. Painting and drawing have been part of my life since long before I moved to London. I started painting in Chile in 1996 while studying and later working as an architect in Concepción, where I ran my own architectural practice with two partners. After that, I spent a few years working as an architect in Berlin before moving to London, where I continued my architectural career with firms including Broadway Malyan, WATG, CivicArts, Benoy and Zaha Hadid Architects.
Architecture gave me an understanding of scale, composition and how people experience space, and those lessons still influence the way I approach murals today. When I paint a wall, I don’t see it as a flat surface. I think about the building, its surroundings, the movement of people and how the artwork interacts with the environment.
Living in Shoreditch was a turning point. Being surrounded by one of the world’s most active street art scenes encouraged me to bring my work into the public realm. Over time, painting became my primary focus, leading me to create murals and public artworks across Europe, the Americas, Asia and Africa. Even today, I think there is still an architect somewhere behind every mural I create.
You moved from Chile to England in the mid-2000s and became closely connected with the Shoreditch street art scene. What did London give you creatively that you had not found before?
London gave me a platform that I had never experienced before. I had already been painting for many years in Chile and later while living in Berlin, but London, and particularly Shoreditch in the mid-2000s, was different. There was an incredible concentration of artists from diverse backgrounds, all experimenting, exchanging ideas and using public space as a canvas.
What fascinated me was that street art was part of the everyday landscape. People were actively looking at it, discussing it and engaging with it. It wasn’t confined to galleries or institutions. That environment encouraged me to work on a larger scale and to develop my work directly in the public realm.
London also exposed me to an international audience. Through the street art scene, I met artists, organisers and collectors from around the world, which eventually opened up opportunities to paint in Europe, the Americas, Asia and Africa.
Most importantly, London gave me the confidence to fully develop my own visual language. It was a place where originality was valued, and that pushed me to move beyond influences and focus on creating something that felt genuinely my own.
Your ribbon style has become one of the most recognisable elements of your work. How did that language first develop, and when did you realise it had become something uniquely yours?
The ribbon style emerged from a desire to find my own voice. When I first started painting on the streets, I was working mainly with stencils, and some of my pieces inevitably drew comparisons to Banksy. While I admired what he had achieved, I never wanted to become “the next Banksy” or spend my career in someone else’s shadow.
Coming from an architectural background, I felt there was room to create images with more complex structures and multiple layers of meaning. Around that time, I had completed a public sculpture in Concepción, Chile, called Remolino del Bío-Bío, which was based on the movement and interaction of ribbon-like forms. That project stayed with me and inspired me to explore how similar concepts could be translated into painting and street art.
I began experimenting with ribbons as a way of constructing images rather than simply depicting them. Instead of drawing an object, I could build it from intertwining elements, creating movement, tension and narrative at the same time. The ribbons allowed me to deconstruct reality and reconstruct it in a way that felt both surreal and symbolic.
Over the years, the idea evolved into a visual language that became instantly recognisable. I realised it had become something uniquely mine when people started identifying the work before seeing my name attached to it. That evolution not only transformed my practice but also gave my work an international visibility that I had never anticipated.
You have spoken about developing that ribbon style partly because you wanted to move away from comparisons with other street artists. Did that push you to think more consciously about what makes a visual language distinctive?
After moving to London and becoming more involved in the street art scene, I realised how important it was to develop a visual language of my own.
At that time, I was working mainly with stencils, and some of my pieces naturally invited comparisons with artists such as Banksy. While I respected what he had achieved, I never wanted to be perceived as “another Banksy” or build a career based on similarities to someone else’s work.
My background in architecture pushed me to think differently. I became interested in creating images with more complex structures, stronger symbolism and a visual language that people could immediately recognise. Around the same period, I had completed a public sculpture in Concepción, Chile, called Remolino del Bío-Bío, which was based on the movement and interaction of ribbon-like forms. That experience had a lasting influence on me.
I began exploring how those ideas could be translated into painting and street art. What started as an experiment gradually evolved into a visual language that allowed me to construct images rather than simply depict them. The ribbons became a way of creating movement, narrative and multiple meanings within a single image.
Looking back, I think the desire to move away from comparisons was an important catalyst. It forced me to ask myself what I could contribute that was genuinely different. The ribbon style eventually became the answer, and it opened doors I never expected, helping my work gain recognition internationally.
Anti-war ideas and social commentary have appeared repeatedly in your work. Why has the street felt like the right place to communicate those kinds of messages?
Anti-war themes and social commentary have always interested me because art allows us to address difficult subjects in a way that can reach a wider audience. I’ve never been interested in creating purely political statements. Instead, I try to create images that attract people visually first and then reveal a deeper layer of meaning.
The street feels like the right place for that because it reaches people unexpectedly. A passer-by might be drawn in by a beautiful sunset, a silhouette or a striking composition, only to discover a message about war, consumerism, inequality or the challenges society faces today. I enjoy that moment of discovery because it encourages reflection rather than telling people what to think.
Public space has always been a democratic environment where different voices can coexist. For me, street art is an opportunity to start conversations, ask questions and invite people to look at familiar issues from a different perspective.
Your work often combines something visually seductive with something much darker or more ironic underneath. Is that contrast important to you?
Yes, that contrast is very important to me. I’ve always been interested in creating images that work on more than one level. At first glance, a piece might appear beautiful, peaceful or even romantic, but when people spend more time with it, they often discover a darker narrative, irony or social commentary hidden beneath the surface.
I think that reflects the world we live in. Many of the most serious issues we face are often disguised behind attractive images, political narratives or media spectacles. I’m interested in exploring that tension between appearance and reality.
In my own work, beauty often acts as an invitation. A striking sunset, an elegant silhouette or the movement of the ribbons draws the viewer in, but once they are engaged, they may begin to notice details that change the meaning of the piece entirely. I enjoy that moment of discovery because it allows the viewer to become an active participant rather than simply receiving a message.
I’ve never been interested in creating art that gives all the answers immediately. I prefer ambiguity and multiple interpretations. If someone walks away still thinking about a piece hours later, then I feel the work has succeeded.
Surrealism has been a strong influence, particularly artists such as Dalí and Magritte. What do you think surrealism allows you to do that a more literal approach cannot?
Surrealism has always fascinated me because it allows you to communicate ideas in a more powerful and memorable way than a literal image often can. Artists like Dalí and Magritte understood that by altering reality, combining unexpected elements or creating visual contradictions, you can make people stop, think and question what they are looking at.
I’ve never been interested in simply illustrating a message. If I want to talk about war, technology, consumerism or political issues, I don’t necessarily want to paint them in a straightforward way. Surrealism allows me to approach those subjects through metaphor, symbolism and imagination, making the work more open to interpretation.
I think people remember images that surprise them. A realistic painting can communicate something clearly, but a surreal image often stays in your mind for much longer because your brain keeps trying to resolve the visual puzzle. That process of discovery is something I find very rewarding.
My ribbon works, many of my silhouette pieces and even some of my murals are rooted in that idea. They may appear familiar at first, but there is usually an unexpected element that shifts the meaning and encourages viewers to create their own interpretation. For me, that space between reality and imagination is where some of the most interesting conversations can happen.
You have worked with oil painting, collage, illustration, stencils, spray paint, sculpture and large-scale murals. Do you tend to choose the medium according to the idea, or does the material itself often generate the idea?
Usually, the idea comes first, but the relationship between concept and material is never completely fixed. Some ideas naturally belong on a wall, while others work better on canvas, as a sculpture or as a studio piece.
At the same time, I enjoy experimenting with different materials because they often open up unexpected possibilities. My ribbon sculptures, for example, influenced the development of my ribbon paintings, and vice versa. I find that moving between media keeps the creative process fresh and prevents me from becoming too comfortable.
Ultimately, I see all these disciplines as different ways of telling stories. The challenge is finding the medium that best communicates the idea.
Some of your street works are designed to exist only temporarily, while others have survived for years. Does the possibility that a mural may disappear change your relationship with it?
Not really. When I was younger, I probably cared more about preserving every piece I created. Over time, I came to understand that impermanence is one of the defining characteristics of street art.
A mural can disappear for many reasons. Buildings are demolished, neighbourhoods change, walls are repainted and sometimes nature simply takes its course. I’ve learned to accept that once a work enters the public realm, its future is no longer entirely in my hands.
In a way, that temporary nature makes public art even more special. A mural exists within a specific moment, place and community. Some of my works have lasted only a few days, while others have survived for more than a decade and become part of the local landscape. Both experiences are valuable.
What matters most to me is the impact the work has while it exists. If a mural creates a memory, starts a conversation or connects with people, then it has already fulfilled its purpose, whether it remains for ten days or ten years.
You have painted in cities across Europe, the US and beyond. Do you approach a wall differently depending on the city, neighbourhood or audience around it?
Yes, absolutely. Every city, neighbourhood and community has its own history, values and expectations, and I think it is important to respect that when creating work in public space.
I always try to create something that relates to the location and generates a positive connection with the people who live there. Over the years, I’ve learned that what may be perfectly acceptable in one place can be interpreted very differently somewhere else.
For example, I have painted female figures using my ribbon style, where the body is not actually depicted as a nude figure but is constructed entirely from ribbons. However, in some more conservative or predominantly Muslim areas, local people have painted over certain sections of the work because they felt those parts should not be visible. Experiences like that teach you a lot about how culture and context shape the way art is perceived.
I’ve also been asked to create more family-oriented or child-friendly themes in locations close to schools, which I think makes complete sense. Public art should always consider its surroundings and audience.
For me, being flexible is an important part of this profession. I don’t see adapting to a place as a limitation. On the contrary, it can lead to stronger work because it creates a genuine dialogue between the artwork and the community around it.
After so many years working between the street, galleries and commissions, do you still get the same sense of freedom from painting in public space that you did when you first started?
Yes and no. When I first started painting in the street, there was a sense of total freedom because I had no expectations to meet. I was simply experimenting, learning and trying to find my own voice. Everything felt new, and there was very little to lose.
Today, after many years working between public art, galleries and commissioned projects, there is naturally more responsibility. Clients, communities and collaborators often become part of the process, and that requires a different approach.
However, I still find public space to be one of the most liberating environments for an artist. Unlike a gallery, where the audience has already decided to engage with art, a mural becomes part of people’s everyday lives. The interaction is immediate, unpredictable and often very honest.
What has changed is not the freedom itself, but my understanding of it. When I was younger, freedom meant having no limits. Today, freedom comes from being able to communicate ideas, tell stories and create meaningful connections with people through my work. That feeling is still very much alive and remains one of the reasons I continue to paint in public spaces.
What are you most interested in pushing further now, whether in scale, subject, materials or a completely new direction?
I’m always interested in evolution rather than repetition. The ribbon language has been part of my work for many years, but I still feel there is enormous potential to explore it further.
One direction that particularly interests me is the development of larger sculptural and three-dimensional works. In some ways, this feels like a natural progression. The ribbon concept was influenced by both my architectural background and earlier sculptural projects, so I am excited by the possibility of taking those ideas further into public space and immersive installations.
In terms of subject matter, I remain fascinated by the contradictions of contemporary society. Themes such as war, artificial intelligence, misinformation, environmental concerns and the increasing relationship between humans and technology continue to influence my work. These are subjects that affect all of us and constantly generate new questions.
At the same time, I don’t want to become trapped by my own style. One of the biggest challenges for any artist is to keep evolving while maintaining a recognisable identity. I hope to continue surprising both myself and my audience by finding new ways to use the visual language I have developed over the years, whether through painting, sculpture or entirely new forms of public art.
