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CURATOR'S INTRODUCTION
J. Tar
My father created art for 92 years.
Not because he was famous. Not because anyone was buying. He painted because something inside him demanded it—something beyond ambition, beyond recognition. A frequency, tuned to creation itself.
Laszlo Tar was born in northeast Hungary in 1922, formally trained at Hungary's Academy of Fine Arts. But in 1956, with Soviet tanks rolling through his city, he made a choice: freedom over safety. He escaped with my mother, sister, and brother through minefields and armed borders, leaving everything behind except his hands and his vision.
America became his canvas.
Spanish Harlem. Uptown. Downtown. Central Park. The Jersey shore. Wherever we landed, he created. While my mother worked, he stayed home with us—his three young children—setting up his easel in our small railroad-style apartment when he couldn't work outside. Inside, he capturing what he could see through windows, painting bouquets, or creating portraits of us. Later, when we were older, he returned to the streets: New York City, Pittsburgh, Venetian canals, Paris, London, Long Island—beaches, sidewalks, rooftops, waterfronts, parks.
He worked until the weeks before he died—97 years old, still chasing light.
His collection represents a lifetime of seeing and reflecting what was inside.
Not just landscapes, still-lifes, portraits, and drawings, but displacement, longing, and belonging. Not just technique, but testimony. Every brushstroke is a moment he lived. Every canvas a bridge between where he came from and where he landed—and how he felt about humanity in all its beauty, happiness, and tragedy.
I'm his youngest son, Julius. I'm the curator of this work—not because I'm trained in art, but because I know the stories. I stood beside him while he worked. I created the bouquets he painted and later explored with him to find the perfect spots to meld his heart and vision.
I watched him choose freedom. I saw what moved him.
My job now is simple: Make his voice heard through his art!
If you're here, you've already started listening. Thank you for that. Now let me show you what he saw and why—and who he was when he created his art.
Start with any collection. I'll be your guide; sharing stories that will fill your eyes.
Not because he was famous. Not because anyone was buying. He painted because something inside him demanded it—something beyond ambition, beyond recognition. A frequency, tuned to creation itself.
Laszlo Tar was born in northeast Hungary in 1922, formally trained at Hungary's Academy of Fine Arts. But in 1956, with Soviet tanks rolling through his city, he made a choice: freedom over safety. He escaped with my mother, sister, and brother through minefields and armed borders, leaving everything behind except his hands and his vision.
America became his canvas.
Spanish Harlem. Uptown. Downtown. Central Park. The Jersey shore. Wherever we landed, he created. While my mother worked, he stayed home with us—his three young children—setting up his easel in our small railroad-style apartment when he couldn't work outside. Inside, he capturing what he could see through windows, painting bouquets, or creating portraits of us. Later, when we were older, he returned to the streets: New York City, Pittsburgh, Venetian canals, Paris, London, Long Island—beaches, sidewalks, rooftops, waterfronts, parks.
He worked until the weeks before he died—97 years old, still chasing light.
His collection represents a lifetime of seeing and reflecting what was inside.
Not just landscapes, still-lifes, portraits, and drawings, but displacement, longing, and belonging. Not just technique, but testimony. Every brushstroke is a moment he lived. Every canvas a bridge between where he came from and where he landed—and how he felt about humanity in all its beauty, happiness, and tragedy.
I'm his youngest son, Julius. I'm the curator of this work—not because I'm trained in art, but because I know the stories. I stood beside him while he worked. I created the bouquets he painted and later explored with him to find the perfect spots to meld his heart and vision.
I watched him choose freedom. I saw what moved him.
My job now is simple: Make his voice heard through his art!
If you're here, you've already started listening. Thank you for that. Now let me show you what he saw and why—and who he was when he created his art.
Start with any collection. I'll be your guide; sharing stories that will fill your eyes.
“Where the spirit does not work with the hand, there is no art.” - Leonardo Da Vinci
My father enjoyed life and had high regard for nature and all living things. He tried to take full advantage of every creative moment. Even when he wasn't actively painting or drawing, I would catch him quietly speaking to himself about what he was looking at, as if recreating it in his mind. Sometimes he would even talk to what he was looking at, pointing out details with hand gestures, complimenting its beauty, and assuring it that he would soon create a worthy work of art in its image, as he saw it. At first, I thought that was a little weird, but later, when I studied Native American cultures and Eastern religions, I understood what was happening, that it was not new, and that indeed it was beautiful. Essentially, Dad was so in tune with his world and nature that together, they were at times One, speaking to each other like old friends - The Great Creator and the Artist.
"A work of art is good if it has arisen out of necessity." - Rainer Maria Rilke
Dad always said that he had something inside of him that needed to Get Out. It took me some time to understand what he meant, but I later realized that his art was all about exactly that - Getting his message Out. Through his art, he was trying to get what he saw and felt inside himself - Out. Indeed, Dad believed that ALL of us have something inside that needs to come out - something special given to us by The Creator. I hope that idea is inspiring and hopeful to you because it puts us all on a mission to deliver our own message to the world. Whether you are an artist, writer, builder, parent, or whatever you do, Dad would say - "We all have something given to us by God. It is our unique purpose, and that needs to show because it is Who and Why we are".
My father was very fortunate to know that he was an artist at age five. He found his purpose and kept at it throughout his life. He was not wealthy in terms of money or possessions; our family was actually relatively poor and likely would have been homeless were it not for my mother - but Dad was rich with "intent." He saw and felt things, knew what he needed to do with them, and he did it at every moment he could - and he also felt that same "force" is within all of us.
I think Dad was a pretty wise man, and along the way, he was also a father to three children and a devoted husband to our Mom.
My father was very fortunate to know that he was an artist at age five. He found his purpose and kept at it throughout his life. He was not wealthy in terms of money or possessions; our family was actually relatively poor and likely would have been homeless were it not for my mother - but Dad was rich with "intent." He saw and felt things, knew what he needed to do with them, and he did it at every moment he could - and he also felt that same "force" is within all of us.
I think Dad was a pretty wise man, and along the way, he was also a father to three children and a devoted husband to our Mom.
"If you want to lift yourself up, lift up someone else." - Booker T. Washington
For approximately 37 years, I worked closely with my father and his art. Our work together mostly involved me helping his creative process. It was an incredible and accidental learning journey for us both. Whether by simply putting together flower arrangements for him, traveling together to artistic locations, creating reproduction prints of his work, or just walking together in the park - We spent many hours, days, months, and years in each other's company, and today those memories, and his vision, are stored in my heart, and they need to come out.
The pages of this site include short personal stories assigned to Dad's work. I speak about the art, his life, our time together, and the wisdom I learned from him over the years.
In creating this gallery, I aim to add a bit of unique value to Dad's creations so that you, the viewer, might understand a tiny part of why, how, and when he created the things he did.
The pages of this site include short personal stories assigned to Dad's work. I speak about the art, his life, our time together, and the wisdom I learned from him over the years.
In creating this gallery, I aim to add a bit of unique value to Dad's creations so that you, the viewer, might understand a tiny part of why, how, and when he created the things he did.
In summary, I would like you to see this art - Through My Father's Eyes.
Acknowledgments
I would be remiss not to mention a few special people who made this effort possible. ❤️
First, my mother. She built and held our family together like "Crazy Glue." She made us excel in all forms, from basically nothing. There is no heart big enough, nor enough hearts, to describe her positive and lasting impact upon our lives.
To my brother, Dr. Leslie Tar, who is an important part and driver of this work and who has always been an incredible force of support and inspiration to our entire family and me.
And to my "saintly" wife Antoinette, who stood by me while I cared for Dad in our home during his final years. She waited for me during those seemingly endless lonely hours, days, and months that I worked with Dad, just because I felt I needed to. She is my forever-loving Angel.
And finally, to my beautiful granddaughter Gianna who, at age 12, took it upon herself to play her flute so unforgettably at my father's funeral. I know Dad heard your song. Thank you
I would be remiss not to mention a few special people who made this effort possible. ❤️
First, my mother. She built and held our family together like "Crazy Glue." She made us excel in all forms, from basically nothing. There is no heart big enough, nor enough hearts, to describe her positive and lasting impact upon our lives.
To my brother, Dr. Leslie Tar, who is an important part and driver of this work and who has always been an incredible force of support and inspiration to our entire family and me.
And to my "saintly" wife Antoinette, who stood by me while I cared for Dad in our home during his final years. She waited for me during those seemingly endless lonely hours, days, and months that I worked with Dad, just because I felt I needed to. She is my forever-loving Angel.
And finally, to my beautiful granddaughter Gianna who, at age 12, took it upon herself to play her flute so unforgettably at my father's funeral. I know Dad heard your song. Thank you
As was Dad's life, this site is a work in progress.
Thank you for visiting and for allowing me to share this art...
Through My Father's Eyes
J. Tar
Thank you for visiting and for allowing me to share this art...
Through My Father's Eyes
J. Tar