Michal markets his movies under the trademark of a feminist cafe... Why?
Posted:
I'm not a fool. I know that most people indulge their baser emotions. Wanting to feel dominant or submissive comes easy. Wanting to approach someone on an equal basis and reaping joy from that requires a high level of cooperation. It requires you to consider another person's needs as if they were your own.
By teaching myself to listen to women, I'd like to give everyone a chance to become a better listener.
I've decided to export fine art handcrafted by women in Poland to America. High quality handcrafted art produced by high quality women deserves to be shared. The more I can sell stateside to people who know the difference, the more I can buy from those whose worthy hands to continue the fight for openness and equality, a fight that I've taken to the world wide web.
Your support ensures that films for women will make a difference.
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Janina: An Oral History of the Twentieth Century in Southern Poland
Chapter 8: A Royal Capital City
Janina's discussion of two monuments in Lwów, one a statue of a folk artist who belonged to an ethnic Ukrainian minority, and the other a townhouse built by a Polish king, illustrates an important aspect of the region's past.
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.
I had come to Europe to experience European naturism, a movement whose philosophy matched my aesthetic of body acceptance and whose organizational structure and leadership I had thought almost exclusively restricted to the western half of the continent. I was shocked to learn that naturism had an official home in Poland, a country not especially known for its liberal culture. I was less shocked to discover that the home was owned by a Dutchman, but even more shocked to learn that it had been largely built by Margo.
I was American. Freshly arrived in Europe and the new owner of a '97 Ford Escort made in Germany. The only thing I had to complain about was the fact that the owner's manual was in German. She was from Poland, and a German-language owner's manual for a car bought in Poland wasn't the only thing she had to complain about. Something as small as that didn't even register.
Do unto others as you would have done unto you. But how to judge what we would want done to us if we've never been in somebody else's shoes? If we've never been abandoned by our mother, how do we treat somebody who has? Somebody who seems to constantly suffer the repurcussions of it? Margo and I had 46 days and 6,000 miles to try on each other's shoes. We had one car and one tent in which to hear each other's words. We learned to cooperate. We started learning how to listen.
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: Large Canvas Art
Art is the expression of an idea. Often that idea is simply the form of the expression itself, the beautiful or not-so-beautiful shape of an otherwise meaningless gesture. This is decorative art. It encompasses everything from origami to cheap romance novels. It is popular and if you want to put a decorative print on your wall, you can buy one at a place like Ikea.
Most artists with ambition create documentary art, meaning the ideas embedded in their work relate to something beyond the undulations of their expressiveness. Instead of just making a new twist, they try to make that twist seem extra clever. It means something beyond being just a twist. In the most obscene cases, an artist won't even tell you what it means and suggests you figure it out for yourself. No other profession gets away with this. It's like a prostitute who says he's not sure if he does anal.
I try not to be clever. Trying to be clever is what I used to do when I was a child and I wanted attention. I try to be right. I try to discover the truth and pass it along. I try to trust my own judgment.
I've read most of the Bible. It's not a code of laws or something you put on your coffee table because it looks nice. It's one of the greatest documentary works of art ever compiled. When common people started reading it, the Reformation happened. Not everybody read the whole thing, nor did they necessarily understand what they did read, which is why not everything got reformed in the right direction. In their defense though, some parts of the Bible aren't even written in the right way. We all make mistakes. It doesn't mean we shouldn't keep working towards the right reform. That is the idea at the basis of the best art. It's the idea that I'm going to keep repeating because I am too old to be clever.
Pronunciation of Large Canvas Art
I have yet to publish a pronunciation for the words "large canvas art."
Video of me pronouncing "large canvas art."
Definition of Large Canvas Art
Large Canvas Art is a visual composition applied to a woven material of dimensions exceeding around 10 square feet, the dimensions being somewhat fluid.
References for large canvas art
I have yet to find good references for Large Canvas Art
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 #4604
water itself doesnt bother harley. she likes rain. its the large bodies that frighten her. maybe it has something to do with being enveloped.
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.
Simply put, at the time, I had no idea what I was doing or where it would lead. I was not in control, despite exhibiting extraordinary amounts of it - which may have been what allured that strange creature to me in the first place. It was a desperate creature I faced: a creature deprived of something I couldn't understand: deprived of self: lacking self. It was lost under a cloud of something unknowable: a fog of unhappy sunshine pollution: photochemical smog. It was confusion personified. It was infancy: unripe and unwilling to ripen - needy and restive - ungrateful, unapologetic, and unlearned - demanding - fascinating - irresistible - not yet a woman, it was a woman - it wanted to be a woman - it wanted to be a mother - it was unfit for motherhood - it deserved it, avoided it, wanted it, rejected it - it was a human being - it embraced it - it was everything at once - too much and too little - it lacked a little prudence to be honest, but, as the product of a genius Creator God, it was a work of art - mysterious when penetrated. It was not a simple woman, to the say the least.
Most importantly, we gained a culture of wealth. Music, art and poetry must have a cost. The higher the cost, the better the art. After all, musicians need instruments, sculptors need rock, and poets need to travel. They must be well fed, and thus the Golden Age of each and every nation has been built on gold. Poeta nascitur, et fit. Alexander was made on the slopes of Mount Pangaion. Poland's Golden Age was built on grain, traveling by raft or barge - or even (in the case of a real entrepreneur) by skiff - down the great Vistula River, which took its golden rye by twists and turns and dangerous spring waters into the great city of Danzig. The great age of mercantilism it was! Renaissance of trade and culture! In Poland, safeguarded by the great magnates and latifundia: may they come to reign again! This time, with machines!
They wrapped the bodies in sheets of canvas and carefully loaded them into the back of a truck. The white truck glowed in the moonlight. "It's been waiting here too long," said Jesus. The white canvas glowed in the moonlight. "Come on, people; let's go."
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.
So the industry makes a big deal out of its own accomplishments. That's why, if you're not a rose-grower you don't really hear about the Rose Selections. It's a niche market, which means that there's a steady audience, that certain people will always be buying roses: why should the judges be worried about what's going to be popular?" I told Macy that simplicity is a virtue, and if the Rose Selectors wish to commend a grower for developing an easy flower to grow, then it lies entirely within their prerogative. Nike agreed, pointing out that the Rose Selectors were judging roses, "not rose growers. If they were doing that, then maybe they'd give the award to someone who could successfully grow a difficult rose." Macy agreed that it was entirely natural for the judges to compliment a rose that was easy to grow. "But that's not my point. My point is: why isn't there a prize for rose growers? That kind of prize would reward merit, it would raise public awareness of these talented people and their art form, but it wouldn't serve the economy and therefore it would never be subjected to its forces." Nike stopped to consider this, but I already knew that Macy was mistaken. Not only was he being idealistic, he was being plain wrong. I asked him why he'd want to divorce prize-giving from the promotion of goods. What good would that serve? "It would serve the ideal," he replied; "it would preserve the purity of the prize itself." I turned away from him and stared in front of me. I told him he was being foolish; he was defining a prize as something periodically given by an institution to members of a select community. I told him to consider a prize given daily from one person to another; I told him to consider marriage. "Love," I said, "is a gift freely given, but marriage is a prize for which people apply, for which some qualify and some do not. Whoever be the judge, the prize is awarded on the basis of merit, and the banns of marriage proclaim the lucky victors. Do you think you can divorce marriage from its promotion of life? How fruitful is the marriage without children? Tell me honestly, is your ideal marriage incapable of producing children?" I did not turn to face him; instead, I got up and went for a drink.
To illustrate: Macy would enquire as to my family relations, and how we ended up in Austria even though we weren't exactly Austrian; so I would discuss at great length our family history and related anecdotes, et cetera, and then maybe I'd mention something about art and Macy would be very keen on learning about it, would enquire as to my interest in art and what I've studied, et cetera, and I would be more than excited to give him every detail. As time passed, subjects would vary, but our encounters together were like episodes of one long exhaustive conversation that we would necessarily pick up whenever we found ourselves alone.
I remember him standing in front of that canvas forever, trying to count the number of games, until I left out of frustration and came back with an information card. He looked amused with himself, and claimed he had counted sixty without doubling; I told him it was eighty-four, and had to convince him not to look for the rest. Even as we stood in front of Mantegna's St. Sebastian, he mentioned how funny it was that Bruegel would show grown men playing a children's game like leapfrog. He said adults shouldn't act like children, but that they should think like them.
I prayed. Nike could not harm this beautiful creature: this lonely woman framed by shadow: this faint white blur of something sacred - divinely profane: a strange creature of different fabrics, white and black, her veil was it? A disembodied head: a strip dangling in darkness: a bird with a shimmering tail. What kind of bird? a dove? a penguin? a beautiful canvasback pochard in flight? About to be shot?
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 2, The Second Day, Part 1, Labor & Economic Reform, Section 22, Encountering Poverty, Paragraph 49
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.
Patsy wanted to show everybody how successful his test had been. Gathering all the rangers and the park policemen, he again prepared the long conference table and the ropes. This time, as he was about to put the collar on Juanita, he whispered into her ear, "Are you sure you're wearing panties?"
Sergeant Cline interrupted. "It's not right for a lady to be put in that position. I should be the one to do it."
Gog continued the journey. He encountered a large salt lake [e.g. Lake Urmia]. The settlements along its eastern shores had recently felt Sargon's wrath. "They breed horses here," said the men. "There is good pasture. If we stay here, we can raid the plains and roam the hills at our leisure."
The egret started fiddling around with something. It was a child's ribbon. It took the fabric in its mouth and flew away. Morimoto wondered. He ordered his men to search the rooftops once more. They found a piece of gabardine woven into a large nest. There was some kind of buckle on it. The laboratory found traces of a victim's skin.
Shamans in the form of mascots and cheerleaders tried to entrance the people. Loud music blared. Lights flashed. The warriors emerged. Large video screens detailed their physical attributes. The show, thought Tatum, was as primitive as it was modern.
Tae speared three of the largest crabs he could find. He brought them to Bo. She refused to look at them. Tae went about making a fire. By dusk, he had cooked two of the crabs. He ate them with pleasure. Bo sat motionless the entire time. Tae thought, "Hunger will move her."
In the morning, she was still sitting cross-legged with her hands in her lap. Tae went to her. "Come," he said. He held out his arm. "Have breakfast."
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
(There is a large gush of water from the kitchen.)
MS. JACKSON: Ah!
LESBIAN: Ooh!
KOKOMO: Oh!
ALICE: I'm lucky I'm still wearing my swimsuit.
GREY GOOSE: Shut it off!
FLETCHER: (off) What?
GREY GOOSE: Shut it off! Quickly!
– ACT I, lines 1185-1191
(MS. JACKSON enters with a nightshirt and a large down comforter.)
MS. JACKSON: Here we go.
LESBIAN: Excellent.
MS. JACKSON: Put this on and get yourself to sleep.
A story book full of short fiction stories. An interesting bedtime mystery. A fairy tale. Science fiction romance. Adult life. Uninspiring gay fiction. Horror.
I discovered a beautiful pavilion. Completely abandoned. Pristine toilet followed pristine toilet. I commenced spewing all over. Grunting and panting through the intervals. I shat half my body weight before I heard somebody come inside. This person was going from toilet to toilet. Opening every door. I was afraid my gut wasn't the only thing about to be liquidated. My unseen nemesis banged on my stall. I calmly ignored it. I dispensed half a roll of paper. I cleaned everything up. I don't remember if I flushed. When I opened the door the largest woman I have ever seen snarled at me and started shouting. I have no idea what she was saying. It sounded like a lot. She followed me out of the pavilion and halfway back to the stadium. I was sure if I didn't lose myself in the crowd she would find me and have me killed. That was the end of my trip.
A few months later the professor was again observing Bill and Mark going up the hill. He noted the difference in time. He calmly consulted his formula. He calculated a 95% chance of collision. There had never been such a high probability. The professor rushed out of the house. Again he almost tripped and fell on the tripod. He set himself up on the side of the road. He made sure the lighting was adequate. He programmed the continuous drive. He heard the sound of two engines coming down the hill. He couldn't stop smiling. He was on the verge of a photographic masterpiece. Better than the shot of the two cars that got stuck trying to get into the same tollbooth. This would be a series of pictures framed and hung in a massive room in a famous art gallery. "Dueling postmen" he would call it. "No," he thought to himself. "Large Postman Collider. An Experiment in Physics."
"Not by itself," said Orbitz. "It has the maturity of a small child. It will always be like that. The princess was infected with a parasite during the pregnancy. It fused with her child's nervous system. From the belly up it looks like a little girl. Below it has the thorax, the legs, and the abdomen of a large spider. In the abdomen is a poison gland that can be removed surgically. Until then it must be cauterized daily. Its reproductive system cannot be removed. It produces parasites that infect pregnant humanoids. When it sees you onboard it will insist that you be infected." Sara Lee's chest heaved with apprehsion. Orbitz restrained her. "It will sense the child within you," he said. "If you go aboard the ship I am going to let it infect you, Sara Lee." Orbitz's voice almost broke. "I'm sorry for that," he said. "I've paid the price. I want you to know that our son will survive. He will be a beautiful baby boy. He will grow up to love his mother very much. I can't tell you how this is how going to happen. It would betray me to the creature. You have to trust me." Orbitz turned Sara Lee around to face him. "You don't have to go onboard the ship, beloved. You have a choice."
The Education Ministry was offering me a job. It was a teaching position at a village school. It was the only school for a large area. Children from many villages went there. Only one teacher taught there and he had literally drunk himself to death a week before. The Ministry was in a hurry to fill the position. Absolutely nobody was interested. I only had one question. I asked if the village was far from Moscow. The man behind the desk nodded his head. I accepted.
Pfizer rushed to his lab. He stood in front of something beautiful. His jars of microbes. If only he could spot the little miracles with his naked eye. He wondered if it would make a difference. It was only the waste people could see. The globules of detritus fluttering about. Bunching up in heaps here and there. "That is the truth of Titan," thought Pfizer. Large or small, civilized or not, life was constantly surrounded by waste.
It's natural to hide dirty things. They're embarrassing. But we need to keep in mind that when we hide things that are difficult, we make them seem dirty when they're really something else entirely. And when we keep things that are easy in plain sight, we make them seem clean when they really aren't. That is dangerous.
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If you love women and art...
Michal is importing Polish art...is he non compos mentis?
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.
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