Art: Found & Lost

Newspaper readers sometimes get the impression that lost masterpieces of art turn up continually, and that any old-looking picture in the attic or at an auction may be worth a fortune. The day-after fact: the typical news story about the Rembrandt that Aunt Sophie found in a pushcart usually comes unglued just a few days after it has been front-paged, but by then, it is no longer news. Contributing to the confusion is the fact that art experts generally refuse to challenge such stories, for fear of libel suits. Result: gullible collectors spend thousands each year purchasing worthless pictures as possible masterpieces.

Stones in the Street. Last week, daily papers across the nation front-paged yet another art discovery, in Hollywood. Appropriately supercolossal, the story raised a mushroom cloud of dust and then rapidly evaporated. The announcement was made in the office of Hollywood's wide-screen Lawyer Jerry Giesler. There, Chicago Restorer Alexander Zlatoff-Mirsky announced that an Italian-born TV repairman named Alfonso Folio, now of Pasadena, had been living for years with $10 million in pictures under his bed.

Said to be Folio heirlooms, the ten canvases were shipped from Italy 14 years ago. More than a year ago, Folio and his sister, Mrs. Maria Hataburda, called in a respected art appraiser named Taylor Curtis, who told them that the pictures were unquestionably old (16th or 17th century) and in very bad condition. He also said they had no special merit. "Stones in the street," Curtis explained last week, "may be millions of years old, but you can't sell them as art." Undaunted, the Folio family consulted one Charles di Renzo, owner of an electrical-supply store in nearby Rosemead, who made a deal to act as the Folios' "agent." Di Renzo and his brother Jay called in Amadore Porcella, an enthusiastic authenticator described as a Vatican art expert. Porcella ticked seven of them off as a Caravaggio, a Lotto, a Tintoretto, and some assorted smaller fry. (In Rome last week he denied that he had identified the other three as a Raphael, another Tintoretto and a Titian.)

Speed in the Studio. At Porcella's urging, Zlatoff-Mirsky came hurrying out to Hollywood. He pronounced the pictures in excellent condition—while at the same time warning that another year of neglect would ruin them forever—took them away, and restored them all with "chemical solvents" in three weeks. Since proper restoration of deteriorated paintings can require as much as a year apiece, Zlatoff-Mirsky's speed was astonishing. At Lawyer Giesler's press conference, he refused to show the actual pictures but passed photographs about. There were also pictures of the most happy Folio himself.