I met Tobias around 2012 at the Mountain School of Arts in Los Angeles, the legendary program founded by Piero Golia, originally based at the Mountain Bar in Chinatown. That year, the bar was under renovation, so the school became something else - a nomadic, headquarter-less curriculum for weirdos.

I first saw him on the street. Sunglasses on, relaxed, cinematic. Handsome, like a Hollywood star lost in an art school. Our first class was on Carroll Avenue, among the Victorian houses made famous by Charmed, a tv show I have never seen. The assignment: watch Nanook of the North and talk about it.

At that point, I didn’t know his work. When I did, shortly after, I understood immediately: clarity. Lyricism. Sincerity without explanation. Radicality. Once, I wrote that he reminded me of Siddhartha, a seeker.

We drove around Los Angeles in a rather old BMW - sleek, well kept, mint condition inside. For reasons I still can’t explain, the rides sometimes felt like scenes from Derrick. A strange European mood drifting through California.

Over the years, I’ve watched his practice unfold internationally - painting, sculpture, across scales and contexts. The work carries a tension I appreciate. At one point, Tobias brought two large canvases to my apartment from what was his sunglasses series: one black, one red. Yin and yang. Installed in the living room, they made a clear statement. We opened during Fashion Week; the apartment filled with beautiful dark angels.

He values friendship, seriously. That loyalty runs quietly through the work and the worlds he builds. I will always follow his work. He’s the most talented singer I’ve ever heard.

Text by Patrick Steffen