He said, “Share my life as an educator”.

Tuska was a husband, a father, a grandfather, a potter, a ceramist, a drawer, a sculptor, and an artist educator.  He was a loving and giving person, on his terms.  Meaning, if you wanted to be with him you had to work with him.  I did.

Originally from Pennsylvania, raised and educated in New York, Tuska spent his life and career as an educator at the University of Kentucky, working, teaching, and never caring about self promotion.  He lived in a self made bubble, inspired and inspiring, flourished and nurtured by his muse, Miriam, my mother.

I called him Dad, now and to others, just Tuska.  Having no preconceived notion of the journey, I am spending the rest of my life, sharing his.  However, when I look back, I now know why.  I have been groomed for this my entire life.

My youth, while the emphasis was on the importance of education and a career away from art, self creativity and expression was always impressed upon.  Spending every weekend in the Studio allowed “playing” with clay, having a pad of paper to draw, and surrounded by the processes and techniques he was immersed in.  He always welcomed an assistant, and I was always willing.  Any gift giving for birthdays and holidays had to be made.  And I did.

In 1969, Tuska’s first sabbatical, moved us to Rome, Italy for the year.  It changed us all.  Non basta una vita, meaning one life is not enough, became the mantra.  To Tuska, one would never be enough for all the things he wanted to say and do, as work generates work.  And work he did.

I remember Tuska and I, as an 11 year old, were lying on the floor of the Sistine Chapel in Vatican City as he is explaining not only the story of creation but Michelangelo’s process and technique of fresco.  It impressed me so much, when we returned, a Seth “Creation” fresco found its way to the bathroom wall.

Flight of Icarus

In 1974, Tuska was commissioned to do a piece for Vanderbilt University in Nashville, Tennessee.  Flight of Icarus, depicting a male tumbling figure in space.  I spent three days with him, transporting and hanging the work, and without him in 2000 to hang it again.

As school became my job, while I would help with projects, attend castings, firings, and openings, math and science was my direction ahead.  As high school turned to college, a structural engineering degree was in front of me and I wanted to build things.

As I weaned myself from the Tuska bubble and charted my own path as an engineer, a husband, and a father, I took with me the creative spirit and need as an artist, a self driven work ethic, an analytical mind, and a figure it out stubborn mentality as a visionary.

Tuska remained in his bubble, inspiring all who crossed his path, and continuing his work generates work mentality and lifestyle.

Tuska working on John Sherman Cooper bust

In 1985 Tuska began his next major work, the John Sherman Cooper bust for the State of Kentucky.  Unlike his other works, an honor he more than embraced.  I remember helping him with the castings and found the pride as it was dedicated in the state capital.

It was when I became a father to two sons, the grand father Tuska emerged to play; unlike I had ever felt from him.  It was a comfort to know he did relish life outside his work mode.  But when they grew to be old enough, it was back in the studio to work with him as another generation of assistants.

The bubble pierced in the mid eighties as Tuska suffered medical crisis in bypass surgery and a stroke.  It was very difficult to see him unable to work and having to depend on others.  I could feel and see the frustration in him.  But again, it was the muse who healed, nurtured, and pushed him back to work.  The bubble was restored.  And work he did.

Read the rest of…
Seth Tuska: John Regis Tuska — Life In the “Bubble”

My father, Lowell Taylor, was diagnosed with stage IV prostate cancer in December 2007.

When I asked how I could pray for him, he said, “Please pray for two things-  that I may continue to serve my Lord and others and that I will be able to bear the pain that is sure to accompany my illness.”  That was it.

For the following 2 years and 4 months that he lived after diagnosis, he did all he could to serve other people even as his body was being destroyed from the inside out.  In the last six weeks of his life, he planned his entire memorial service from choosing the hymns and their order, the speakers and musicians all with a decided theme of celebration.

The day of the memorial service came and people from 800 miles away participated as a gesture of thanks for the many ways he had served them.  The service indeed was a celebration of the love he had for Jesus and Jesus had for him.

I hope my outlook would be so simple, yet so bold should I find myself in similar circumstances.