Retracing my steps in a frantic search to find a favorite earring I'd lost, I returned to a small hospital thrift shop in Mt. Kisco where I had purchased several old picture frames to gild. My hopes for reuniting the silver hoops my husband had given me were squashed by a cheerful, pink-smocked retiree behind the counter. "But, look around," she said, "Maybe you'll find another treasure."

After browsing through the jewelry case, I began to survey the shop. My interest was immediately arrested by a murky oil painting of a peaceful, rocky glade at the base of a tall mountain where snow lingered halfway up in pockets. I'd seen the painting during previous visits, but bypassed it because it was so dark and dreary looking. However, this time I stood on tiptoes, took the painting down from its high shelf and carefully examined it.

The painting was large - about 17 X 24 inches- and done on canvas board.  Up close, I could see that the artist had skillfully used a palette knife to apply globs of paint that, at a distance, formed pine trees and rocks. The painting had great depth and drew my eyes from a small, rocky glade in the foreground, straight up the mountainside to a corner of blue sky. The sky and dingy gray clouds exuded a hopefulness that belied the dreariness of the overall painting. It seemed to speak to me. Whoever the artist was, he was no amateur painstakingly layering every leaf, bark and blade of grass. I turned the painting over and saw these words:

"OLGIN STIT. (MENGUSOVSKA DOLINA PRI PROPRADSKOM PLESE) Artist, Turzak, 1977."

What language was this? What did those words mean? Who was Turzak? A local artist? An immigrant who had painted a scene he remembered? I was intrigued - as much by the mystery of the artist as I was by the painting itself.. "I see you found another treasure," the woman at the counter said smiling as I laid 11 dollars on the counter. "I like the painting," I said, "it's an original. But the frame is hideous!" She held the painting at arm's length. "It is a nice painting," she agreed. "A new frame will make it look like a million dollars."

When I arrived home, I removed the painting from its ugly frame, set it on the floor in front of a bookshelf and stared at it. The more I looked at it, the more I loved it. Like some beautiful child clothed in dirty, ragged garments, it seemed to beg for the spotlight. I decided to have it professionally framed, then hung in a place of honor. I was shocked when I exhibited my treasure to my husband; he said he didn't much like it. I didn't care. I loved it enough for both of us. He agreed to take the inscription to work with him and see if anyone there could translate it.

The whole Labor Day weekend lay before me. Libraries were closed and I was too anxious to wait so I decided to use the web to search for information about the artist who had painted my picture.

I signed onto the Web, typed in the name Turzak, then pressed send. Lo and behold, 25 hits came up for a Charles Turzak! This couldn't be the artist whose picture I had bought for $10 plus tax? Could it? I highlighted the first document titled Charles Turzak, Biography and pressed send again. In moments, my screen filed with a woodcut self portrait of "Charles Turzak, Who's Who 20th Century American Artist (1899-1986)," and page after page (22 in all) about his life as a printmaker, painter, illustrator, watercolorist, cartoonist, designer, author, lecturer, and teacher.

The first line of his biography revealed that he was the son of immigrant Czechoslovakian parents (maybe the language was Czech). I sent an e-mail query describing my new acquisition and asking if Charles Turzak could possibly be its creator to the Turzak Studio Galleries address at the bottom of the page. Then, I followed the tentacles of the Web and viewed the myriad links for Charles Turzak. I found that his home was a designated Chicago Landmark and that he had been friends with Frank Lloyd Wright. The history department's syllabus for SUNY Buffalo featured a 1935 Turzak linocut on its cover. I viewed some of  Turzak's etchings, engravings and woodcuts that were for sale at various gallery web sites, none contained his signature for comparison. Maybe mine wasn't a Turzak - maybe someone had simply copied Turzak's work.

Then, I called a poet/artist I knew who frequently traveled to Czech.  She immediately put her Czech husband on the phone and he translated for me: 

Olga's Mountain Peak, Dolina Valley by Lake Propradskom. A quick perusal of  an atlas revealed that Proprad was a city in Czechoslovakia. Two days passed before I received the awaited response to my query: "I would be most happy to help you identify your painting but must see what you have. Is it possible for you to provide me with a photo of the painting? Unfortunately record books were kept of the woodcut, but not on any other artwork." The letter included a phone number and a Florida address. It was signed Joan Turzak Van Hees, daughter of Charles Turzak.  I was overwhelmed, but tried not to get too excited. I took a quick trip to Kinko's where I made two partial prints (its size 17" X 24" made it too large for a full print on the color copier). Then I saw another aspect of the power of this new technology. The colors in the print were true blue, white, and green. It was awesome. As if someone had turned up the light inside the painting! The painting needed cleaning! But if it had been made in 1977, why was it so dirty after just 22 years? Other than being dull, it was in perfect condition.

When I arrived back home, my answering machine blinded with a voice message from Turzak's daughter. She was as excited as I was about my find. I called her back and we talked for quite a while. She seemed almost certain that her father had painted my picture. "There are no other Turzak painters," she said. And she was sure the painting had been done in 1929 or 30.

"My father traveled to Europe in 1929 and visited his parents' birthplace in Czechoslovakia," she said. "Proprad is 20 miles away from where his parents were born. He brought back a sketch-book full of scenes which he later painted to show my mother, his fiancee at that time. By 1977, he wasn't doing other kinds of work."

After I hung up, I dashed off a note thanking Turzak's daughter for her assistance, and sent the prints via snail-mail. Almost a week later, the reply came. "Without question, it is one of my Dad's. It was probably done in 1929 ù the # 7 and 7 at the lower edge must have stood for the 7th day of July. He left for Europe in June of 1929 and returned in October. Your painting is a beauty! What a find! I believe the title he gave that painting is River View. . . Enclosed is the only record or list of paintings exhibited that mentions River View."

The photocopy of a May 3-5, 1933 exhibition by Charles Turzak at the Allerton Gallery in Chicago lists two oils: Czechoslovakian Landscape and River View. I am more inclined to believe that the painting I have is Czechoslovakian Landscape, but who am I to argue with the painter's daughter?

Whatever it's title, it is an original oil by Charles Turzak! According to his daughter, at auction, his watercolors go for between $1,800 and $2,800 dollars. Oils are even more expensive. Yours would probably go for about $3,400 at auction. She offered me the name of an appraiser familiar with Turzak's works who will appraise it for me for insurance purposes.

A day or so ago, I found an item by Charles Turzak listed on a site selling antiques. They were offering a 1933 copy of his Abraham Lincoln Biography in Woodcut. Several photos of the book appeared. The last one carried Turzak's signature - a perfect match for the one on my painting. No, I'm not interested in selling my painting. Not yet. I've left it with The Framing Gallery to be cleaned and framed. I'm paying a lot more for this than I paid for the painting, but it will be a joy to see it in its original glory. I bet it will look like a million dollars.