Michal spends his time designing calendar wallpaper - can he explain himself?
Posted:
Time can be our enemy or it can be our friend. It can crush us or it can lift us up. It depends on how we want to look at it. If you want time-honored tradition to be your master, you are welcome to it. I'm here to let you know in the kindest terms that there's a way to master time and to make our calendar work for our benefit as the guiding light of a global human community and not just as the reminder of the many generations of the West that suffered before us.
When I say the word art, a lot of people probably think of paintings and sculptures. These are common art forms, but they're not the most basic. One of the most basic forms of art is the calendar.
Consider the fact that when Pope Gregory reformed the Julian Calendar, he decided literally to chop off 10 future dates. What he didn't do is change the day of the week. Therefore, according to Pope Gregory and those who followed him, Thursday, October 4 was followed by Friday, October 15. That date would've been a Monday.
If you were a Catholic in the year of our Lord 1582 and you had bought a calendar that didn't anticipate this, it was telling you that church-goers were worshipping on a Wednesday instead of a Sunday. Except that for Pope Gregory and for everybody else it was still Sunday - because he had chopped off 10 dates - not 10 days.
I follow a calendar that observes a day every year that is neither a numbered date or a day of the week - so that there are only 364 numbered days in a year. This way my calendar starts every year on a Sunday. I like that. It keeps things simple and elegant.
You may not be prepared to adopt a different calendar as long as everybody around you is still using the one Pope Gregory reformed back in the 16th century. That's okay.
I'm offering you free calendar wallpaper so you can think about how important the calendar is as an art-form, not just as a way of counting the days but as a way of organizing our culture and giving our society a direction.
If you think society is heading in the wrong direction and needs a little help, you can try to celebrate Love Your Neighbor Day as I have done - by placing it between Saturday and Sunday - and seeing how you feel. You might feel power and freedom from having broken the cycle of Monday to Friday, Saturday, Sunday. I did. It empowered me and gave me a sense of peace that continues to fuel me to this day. Maybe it can fuel you too.
The HD Body Acceptance Monthly Poster Calendar, A.D. 2013
high-definition digital wallpaper featuring the intelligent and graceful Margo Rijnvis
Margo and I hope that this calendar will brighten your day and lift your spirits high every time you visit your desktop.
Download this monthly poster calendar for November 2013 with a blue background
Help End Harassment With Art
Posted:
Strength and dignity are her clothing...
Proverbs 31:25
Author's Note: I have been enjoined from sharing the details of my true romance adventure until such time that the other party is prepared to present her perspective on the affair arrangement...
My plane touched down in Poland on June 20th. A month later I was in Austria. Two days later, Slovenia. The next day, Croatia. A week later, Italy. The next day, Switzerland. The next day, France. The next day, Germany. The next day, Belgium. The next day, Holland. All with a woman I had met my first weekend on the Continent.
As an artist, from the beginning of my adult career, my work had been devoted to the problem of body acceptance, a goal that I would later learn was shared by a whole community of people called naturists, a humble portion of which I discovered residing in Poland, a country whose cultural conservatism does not lend itself readily to forward thinking. One of those forward-thinking Polish naturists happened to be Margo.
I had an American passport. She didn't. And the fact that I was driving a car with Polish license plates gave her ample opportunity to point out the difference. It wasn't just police and border guards who ethnically profiled me. Regular folks did it too. One campsite owner didn't shake my hand until he realized I was an American. By that point, I had trained myself to use a simplified English, something that more closely resembled what passes for a lingua franca in Europe these days. Something Margo was trying very hard to master.
Margo and I spent over 40 days on the road. We started out as basically strangers, but in those 40 days we started listening to each other. We started teaching ourselves how to cooperate. Our journey across Europe may have ended, but our journey towards each other continues. No amount of fear, anger, sadness, disgust or anticipation can stop hope. Slowly but surely, we're learning how to beat the devils that abuse us.
6,000 miles across Europe with a complete stranger
During our trip across Europe, Margo very bravely opened up to me and to the camera. It was a difficult thing to do considering the scars that she carries. I wanted to share with the world her often joyful, often sad, often angry but always liberating experience except that the Internet is full of pictures of naked women and men and full of trolls who abuse them.
I realized that what I really need to point out is not the openness that Margo and I cultivated between ourselves, but the darkness that continues to surround us. When I censor nudity, I do so in a way that does not compromise the integrity of the human body. In censoring the photographs that Margo and I took during our trip, I was quick to notice that in those pictures where Margo was at her most open, at her most unguarded and most relaxed, in a word, when she was herself and basking in the sun I was forced to blacken her completely.
Why does our society drive people into darkness? Why can we not accept ourselves as we are? Why can we not accept our bodies? Have we truly become eunuchs? Or are we capable of defying the sickness that pits us against each other? Together we could conquer the devils that abuse us.
Whether you enjoy being nude or not, whether you've been photographed nude or not, but especially if, for you, like for Margo, it's something you never thought you would do, consider submitting your own photograph to be published in a censored manner as a form of protest against the ubiquitous presence of the human body on the internet, naked or not, that is published and duplicated ad infinitum without context and without regard for the identity or the needs of the individual being depicted.
Michal's Dictionary: Bare Bottom Photos
Some people need a reason to be looking at a bare bottom. They might be trying to arouse themselves sexually or they might be preparing to administer corporal punishment.
As a nudist, I prefer being naked over being clothed as a general rule. That means I don't need a reason to be naked. I need a reason to be clothed.
As a naturist, I don't need a reason to be looking at a bare bottom. I'm comfortable being surrounded by bare bottoms as a general rule.
I don't fetishize bare bottoms. I think they're useful artifacts. Without bottoms our legs wouldn't work. They attach our legs to the rest of our body and covering them up with fabric doesn't improve that function.
Pronunciation of Bare Bottom Photos
I have yet to publish a pronunciation for the words "bare bottom photos."
Video of me pronouncing "bare bottom photos."
Definition of Bare Bottom Photos
Bare Bottom Photos is something that naturists can be a little sensitive about, considering the amount of peepers around and humanity's history of fetishizing the naked human body.
References for bare bottom photos
I have yet to find good references for Bare Bottom Photos
Samples of Fiction from Michal's Corpus
Michal's Fiction Corpus of Acceptance Literature (FiCAL) is presented under the Bare Bottom imprint. It is currently comprised of six bodies of work, each representing a different pillar of culture and incorporating a wide variety of writhing styles.
A story bible for a comic book series set in a post climate-change California narrated by eight characters who live through a natural disaster that sinks Los Angeles and triggers a war with an expansionist Mexican government covertly supported by China.
Frame #4408
the photo is dark. the online photos of the house are bright. if mcdonalds tries to match the brightness. he might notice something.
An experimental science fiction Christology that makes Jesus the hard boiled narrator of his own early years on a bizarro earth made dark by volcanic ash and informally ruled by a man from Mars who sells bottled air.
We stared at each other for a long time. Then I got up and ambled over to her side. She removed her mask from her mouth and looked up. Her mouth was open; it was only open a little bit - her lips, a centimeter apart, perhaps - but it seemed like her mouth was hanging open; her lower lip curled out; her lips were thick; in fact, her mouth was so big; her chin, so small; it was very strange; her lower set of teeth were pushed against her lip; one of them was wildly out of place, leaning forward, crazily, like the peasant warrior, but you could barely see it, since it hid underneath that huge lip. Her face was very funny. She looked oblivious, wide-eyed and naïve. It seemed as if she were totally forgetting herself. I laughed. I couldn't help myself: she was so amusing.
"The damn thing was going so slow, the generator wasn't generating enough electricity. It got to the point where the windshield wipers were seriously competing with the headlights. By the time we got here, they were so dim, I could barely see three meters ahead. The car stalled right here, on the hill in front of the cemetery. It was pretty spooky 'cause I couldn't see anything. I had no idea where we were, and I thought there was a fork in the road. My grandfather started turning right, but then I realized the road was turning left, so I yelled, 'No, no: left, left!' He started turning left, and that's when we stalled. The battery was dead. There was no way of starting the car while standing still, so my grandfather let it fall back two or three meters. But he couldn't light it. So I got out, and I realized we were right in front of the cemetery gate. If we had fallen back any farther, we would've broken right through it. So now we were off the road. I tried pushing the car uphill, but there was no way: it was too muddy.
That room was his mother's childhood room. In it, among other things, he found a calotype of his mother taken when she was a young woman. It was uncolored - unblemished, as far as Jesus was concerned - and beautiful. His mother was beautiful, but this three-quarter, shoulder-length portrait of her did her beauty justice. It was small - pocket-sized - and Jesus kept one with him always. There were several copies, and Jesus left one at his mother's grave before we left for Mars. The rest he took with him, just in case he lost one in battle. It was very beautiful, that portrait. His mother's neck was turned to the right and slightly tilted. Her shoulders weren't straight: they were slightly stooped as if trying to fit between the sides of the picture - they barely made it. Her blond hair was shoulder-length and tucked behind her left ear; it was very large and prominent, but a very beautiful ear nonetheless. In general, the pose was quite spontaneous, which was remarkable for a calotype, since it required a whole minute of exposure.
"Many years ago," said Jesus, smirking, "before I was ripped from my homeland's arms and taken to the United States of America. This," said Jesus, pointing to a statue of St. Michael piercing the dragon, "is my guardian angel. When I was young - just barely able to walk - I would lead people to this dragon and say 'Pheh' - bad - waving my hand."
I went to the open window. The middle of night was all I could see - the moon was hiding; all the streetlamps were broken. I could barely make out the brick wall nearby, the one which had once formed a building, and which, with the abandoned building next to it, was where the passersby would urinate. How many people Jesus had seen urinating by that wall! He had wondered: why do they always urinate in that same place, when so many apartment buildings are around? Then, he went to that place and discovered that his was the only window that penetrated into that poor man's toilet.
A literature book narrated by a pair of siblings on either side of the Atlantic whose profoundly weird sexual experiences pose a serious challenge to their traditional understanding of mathematicians, marriage, gay young men and God.
We must've been on a bed or something - but of course, my consciousness was a part of the wall or the headboard: I didn't actually see myself. But the closest thing to me was a giant mound of hair on top of a pillow, then a woman's bare back arching before me: a beautiful back (not without resemblance to Indiana's - which, strangely, is how I think I must have envisioned...everything) spreading before me: the long elegance of a woman's back being tied off with a garter belt: black, of course; it was followed by two generous lumps of sugary flesh; but then, immediately: Nike's naked body - also something never witnessed, and for which I must have used myself as a model (and not to Nike's detriment).
Meanwhile, the bitch, who had jumped onto the litter to play with her madam's breasts, now jumped off and approached him. She was very excited. She would skip around on her toes. Sometimes, she would stand in place and jump up and down. Then, she would take a moment to glare at Nike, then suddenly bare her teeth. She would hiss very loudly.
They were so careful as to seem casual. But they were not casual. They were deliberate. They placed me. They put me so high, so very high: right against her hip. I could feel her bone against my bone: my wrist against her hip - her strong hip, her proud hip, a child-bearing hip - oh what kind of hip was touching my hand? Could it be an honest hip? the kind I can trust? Or is it too fragile? close to breaking down? Is it? the bone? I pressed it. I pushed it, rubbing my wrist against it. I was communicating. I was saying hello. I pressed it again. What's your name, hip? Are you a good hip? I pressed it again, but this time, I held my pressure...then I let go. Then I pressed it again. This time, I held it even longer, and, when I let go, I waited. I waited for a while. And then, her hand responded. She gave me the answer. She said: yes! it's a good hip. Trust me: I know. Don't worry, she said. And she kept saying it. She was caressing my hand; she was barely moving it, but she was caressing.
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 1, The First Day, Part 1, Victory & Calendar Reform, Section 13, Apprehension, Paragraph 5, Clauses 29-50
I looked back at Barbara just in time to see her fallen face. Somebody yelled out sixty and somehow she was able to squeeze out a painful smile across her lovely visage. But her muscles were not able to hold it long: the beggar offered an astounding eighty dollars, and she, dropping the corners of her wretched smile, had to fix the most pathetic face I have ever seen: like a mask of death sprinkled with glitter, painted with bright and happy colors that, aesthetically speaking, did not reconcile her now pale skin, or the uneven lines of her twisted lip, or relieve the tension of her naked brow in that beautiful but wretched face of slowly sinking features, relaxing themselves as if they knew the touch of death, and welcomed fate, even though the mouth was still fixed in horror, quietly extending the poetic moment with its cautious gaping, barely unfurling its bottom lip, as if still unsure of its fate in that final moment: a quiet appeal for justice that did not fall on blinded eyes, even though mine were temporarily imprisoned by her beauty in that smoky dungeon.
A collection of stories featuring a sexy Parisian ghost, a spooky Moon base full of vagina-faced aliens, a policeman with an Irish name, a truck full of watermelons, a flautist, and a man who has to see another man about a diseased horse.
Tatum walked briskly. Her heels clicked against the tiles. The sound echoed throughout the dark building. Tatum realized it was sunset. By the time she passed the last partition, she could barely make out the sign of the black trefoil in front of her.
She turned. Her heels snapped on the tiles. A figure, half-submerged, leaned against the far wall.
Her breasts were bared. She wasn't wearing a tunic. Only the flimsy fabric of a friar's scapular covered the length of her body beneath her cloak. With her arms stretched back, two nodules of beautiful fat bulged from beyond her hems, settling under their own weight like egg white beaten to a soft peak, waiting to be folded into batter. The satin of her scapular suddenly sashayed across her nipples. It fell against the side of one breast. It squeezed itself into her cleavage. Pluck, I begged quietly to myself, the obnoxious apron out.
Captain Dog Paw wouldn't have it. The desire to find hot pants being so strong, and the insensitivity coming from the opposite end of his leash so great, the beast broke his collar. Dashing towards the shore, leaping over bare bottoms, kicking up countless amounts of sand into innumerable private places, the dog finally jumped onto his prey.
The woman threw the sword away. She crouched low. She prepared to defend herself with her bare hands. Gog sheathed his sword. He grappled with the woman. He couldn't stop smiling-even as she bit his jaw. Gog cried out. He tried to laugh his way through the pain. He pulled the woman back by her hair. He whispered, "I like you."
A real play. With drama in it. Talk fast. It takes two hours. Set in a guest house. In a small community. After a murder. Lots of suspicion. The characters learn to listen to each other. It's funny.
(GREY GOOSE and LUKE exit.)
MS. JACKSON: Barbarians.
ALICE: Some honeymoon: Luke spends more time with your husband than he does with me.
MS. JACKSON: He can have him. I do feel sorry for you, Alice.
ALICE: I don't mind. He makes up for it with other, more important qualities of manliness.
LESBIAN: Is he large?
ALICE: Yes.
MS. JACKSON: How large?
ALICE: Massive. I can barely take it.
LESBIAN: I don't know if I would like that.
– ACT I, lines 385-393
MS. JACKSON: You must be falling asleep after such a long day.
FLETCHER: Mother.
LESBIAN: I can barely keep my eyes open.
FLETCHER: Excuse me.
MS. JACKSON: That's a problem.
LESBIAN: Why?
MS. JACKSON: The laundry's not done. I'll have to take fresh sheets from the sofa bed.
LESBIAN: Don't bother. I'll sleep in here for now.
MS. JACKSON: Are you sure?
LESBIAN: It'll only be for a nap.
– ACT II, lines 262-271
(ALICE exits.)
GREY GOOSE: Alone at last.
KOKOMO: You've done your business: now leave.
GREY GOOSE: There's more. I need your help.
KOKOMO: Again?
GREY GOOSE: Yes.
KOKOMO: I'm not your little plaything.
GREY GOOSE: Do you want to be thrown out? I didn't think so. Come with me to the kitchen. I need those tender little hands.
KOKOMO: This is the last time, Grey Goose. You've made me sore from all your stupid amusements. I can barely even walk or lift a finger. I'm totally spent.
GREY GOOSE: Don't pretend you don't like it.
– ACT I, lines 852-860
GREY GOOSE: No. You're a good kid. I know that. I only wish I could've been a better father.
FLETCHER: You were good enough.
GREY GOOSE: I wasn't.
FLETCHER: You only hit me - what? Once? I deserved it.
GREY GOOSE: I made it count.
FLETCHER: I barely felt it.
GREY GOOSE: Come on.
FLETCHER: It's better than what you had. I'm grateful.
A story book full of short fiction stories. An interesting bedtime mystery. A fairy tale. Science fiction romance. Adult life. Uninspiring gay fiction. Horror.
Steve, Peter and I wandered around for a while. We spotted Mary walking down the sidewalk. We didn't stop to say hello. We went to a bar. There was barely anyone there. A guy on the patio was seated with his dog. Steve was a dog owner. It gave him a reason to chat. I focused on the bar girl but not to my benefit.
My thoughts raced. What was going on? I imagined leaning over and kissing her. I shook my head. Why would I think that? I considered putting my hand on her knee. What for? Nonsense. I remembered how I grasped her bare buttocks. My God. What had I done?
I killed a cat. It was an accident. I was trying to cut its fur. I wanted to show Kelly the ugliness of a shaved pussy. I don't deserve two years of prison for it. Cruelty to animals is nothing next to how humans treat each other. They put me in the same prison I used to guard. At the very least I know which of these bitches aren't shaved. Those are the ones I can fuck. Even when I was a kid I couldn't stand a bare floor. All the blood stains and grime and guts on the linoleum in the kitchen. It was disgusting. It always curled up at the edges. Like Kelly's toes. As soon as I get out of here I'll find that girl. I'll get her the biggest razor I can find.
Proctor backed out of the bathroom. He looked at the window. There was a fire escape outside. It went up to the loft. Proctor went to look outside. He realized the window was unlocked. He locked it. He shut the curtain. He walked to the front door. He looked outside. The hallway was empty. Proctor tiptoed out. He tried to shut the door as quietly as he could. It wouldn't shut all the way. The frame was broken. Proctor left it. He started soft-shoeing his way down the hall. He could barely swallow his spit. There was a rock in his throat. The stairs seemed like they were getting farther and farther. He finally reached them. The stairwell was empty. He walked down the stairs. The lobby was empty. Proctor took a deep breath. He went outside. He waved to the policeman in the patrol car. He got to his own car. He drove off.
She wrapped her arms around my shoulders. Our foreheads touched. I put my hands on her bare knees. I rubbed her thighs. With each stroke, I circled wider. I went a little slower. I ventured deeper up her leg. I wondered when she would stop me. She didn't. My fingers brushed the edge of her panties. I drew back. I left my hands around her knees.
Indiana lifted her head. I looked up. She was staring into my eyes. She pecked me quickly on the lips. I had no time to pucker. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I've ruined your party."
If a 45-year-old businesswoman and hard working mother of three kids is going to pose nude for a calendar, it's gonna have to be a good one. Margo didn't start a coffee shop called the Vagina Cafe to win her favors from the establishment. Even as she dishes out prizes to the 20 women who placed last in the twentienth anniversary run of her town's biggest road race, her business, unlike everyone else, doesn't get mentioned. She was an official sponsor for Christ's sake! But the announcer just couldn't swallow his patriarchy and get the words "Vagina Cafe" out of his mouth. That's not something a proper gentleman would say in front of a crowd of humble God-fearing "ladies" who cherish their modesty! And a Body Acceptance Calendar is certainly not what a humble God-fearing book-seller like a Barnes and Noble would put on their shelves! So how do I expect to sell this in the mainstream? Maybe if you download the free versions a thousand billion times it might help. Start downloading.
Help support the "Bare Bottom Photos" page up and running...
If you love women and art...
Michal is exporting art...is he cracked?
Michal's Sales Pitch Lot 1: Silesian Handicrafts
T-shirt fundraiser for sale
Last T-Shirt with the logo that I designed.
From a set of, I believe, twenty produced by Margo and given out to a portion of the last 20 women to finish the 20th anniversary Fiat Road Race in Bielsko-Biała, cf. the movie. This is the last one left in it's original packaging and my supporters - like the poor women of Bielsko - are going to have to fight for it. Whoever invests the most money with me, and who lets me borrow it to invest in the next lot, will not only be rewarded with some beautiful piece of art, but will get this priceless t-shirt as a reward for being my top supporter. $1000.00 or best offer. Remember to authorize me to hold the sum as credit against a future purchase and to authorize me to borrow against it.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #1 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Felt handbag for sale
Felt bag by Dorota.
Entirely hand-sewn. Base: polyester felt, 100% PE. Motif: South American woolen yarn, dyed, 100% wool. Hand-worked with a needle. Unique and inimitable design. Inside: cotton fabric, closes with zipper, inside pocket. Available now for $220.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #2 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Decorative collar for sale
Decorative collar by Zuzanna.
Ethnic layered cloth jewelry constructed on a cotton base and adorned with ribbons, tassels, and a yellow fringe. Fastened on the side with 11 buttons, fitted entirely with a pleasant lining. The style is an Indo-Asian-African multinational color combination. The collar is very extravagant and an extraordinary addition to any clothing, guaranteed to attract attention. Just a simple dress and a unique image is ready. Dry-cleaning recommended. Available now for $200.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #3 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Seamless handbag for sale
Handbag by Sylwia.
Handmade from felted all-natural Australian and South American wool. Entirely felted, seamless. Finished with a white lining, inside is a small pocket. Lining is sewn and stitched in by hand. Available now for $180.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #4 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Patchwork quilt for sale
Patchwork quilt by Alicja.
Bedspread made of cotton and polyester material. Inserted with polyester lining. 90 by 70 cm. Available now for $120.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #5 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Nuno-felt shawl for sale
Shawl by Sylwia.
Scarf made with the nuno felting technique (wet felting fibre into a silk gauze) using South American wool. Two-sided scarf with latticework at the ends. Wholly in the colors red, black, green in an abstract pattern. Available now for $100.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #6 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Clara the doll for sale
Clara by Alicja.
Clara loves roses and greenery, adores tormenting spiders with long legs and sleeping soundly in the afternoon. Cuddly toy made of cotton and polyester, stuffed with polyester lining. Available now for $70.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #7 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Noah the doll for sale
Noah by Alicja.
Noah doesn't know what to like and what not to like but keeps wondering and thinking about it. Cuddly toy made of cotton and polyester, stuffed with polyester lining. Available now for $70.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #8 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Black suspenders for sale
Black suspenders by Zuzanna.
Two-sided suspenders from black material with a rose motif on one side and striped cotton on the other. Connected by a leather triangle. Adjustable length. Hand washing in cold water recommended. Available now for $50.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #9 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Orange suspenders for sale
Orange suspenders by Zuzanna.
Two-sided suspenders made of denim and orange material with a Polish floral folk design. Connected by a leather triangle. Adjustable length. Hand washing in cold water recommended. Available now for $50.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #10 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Green suspenders for sale
Green suspenders by Zuzanna.
Two-sided suspenders made of denim and green material with a mountain folk design. Connected by a leather triangle. Adjustable length. Hand washing in cold water recommended. Available now for $50.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #11 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Felt earrings for sale
Felt earrings by Dorota.
Material: South American woolen yarn, dyed, 100% wool. Hand-worked with a needle. Pendant of anti-allergenic metal. Available now for $40.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #12 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Round ceramic earrings for sale
Round ceramic earrings by Dorota.
Material: Glazed ceramics, hand-molded. Available now for $40.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #13 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Oblong ceramic earrings for sale
Oblong ceramic earrings by Dorota.
Material: Glazed ceramics, hand-molded. Available now for $40.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #14 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
'Coral' necklace for sale
Corals by Sylwia.
Necklace made of cotton pieces with organdy and decorated with beads, suspended on cotton strings. Can be worn as a necklace, as a brooch or as a belt tied at the side. Available now for $40.00. Ships free of additional charge via USPS (uninsured) unless otherwise directed.
To purchase please mail a USPS money order in an envelope clearly marked Lot #1/Item #15 to M. Slaby at house number 201 on Ridge Road in the town of West Milford, in the state of New Jersey, one of the beautiful United States of America. The postal code is 07480-3112.
Michal Recommends:
