Michal keeps making films for women... Is he trying to lose money?
Posted:
I've been exploited before. I know what it means to be at a disadvantage. I know what it means to have a need for something and how aggravating it is when nobody listens. I'm learning how to listen myself. If I can show others that I'm listening, maybe I can convince another person to give it a try, too.
Despite the enormous challenge, I'm learning to listen to women. Everyone should have the same chance to reap the benefits of that knowledge.
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 34: FSO Siren
Janina describes the trip she was allowed by the communist government to take with her husband to visit Austria and the farm where he had worked during the war and the setback they faced as traveling motorists from behind the Iron Curtain.
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...
Four days after I arrived in Poland, the largely Catholic country was celebrating Corpus Christi, complete with solemn processions down the street. Three days later I had made a solemn vow that if given the chance to express it, I would show love to a woman I had only just met.
I knew naturism was popular in many parts of Europe and as an artist who had worked on body acceptance for his entire career I was keen on documenting some small part of it. Lo and behold, I found a very important part of it hiding in Poland. Her name was 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.
6,000 miles. One car. One tent. We started learning how to listen. We started learning how to open up. We started cooperating. Even when we were angry, even when it was so difficult that it didn't seem like it would turn out well, we stuck it out. We completed the trip and we came back happy. We had beaten the devil on the road. Back home more devils were waiting to abuse us. More anger. More fear. More sadness. This time we were prepared. This time we had each other and we could harken back to the joy and the trust and the suprise that 6,000 miles had created. We could remember what it was like to live in one tent.
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: Fiction Press
I fondly remember the Scholastic Book Club catalogs I got in elementary school when I was a kid. I was always looking forward to getting them. It was fun to read all the descriptions and figure out what types of literature interested me the most, although it was particularly upsetting if a world literature anthology I liked was too expensive to even think about buying. I had to make informed decisions. Otherwise it meant a trip to the library and the hope that somebody else wouldn't have checked out any of my books-to-read.
There was one book that was always at the library but that I never had the courage to check out. It wasn't science fiction. It was a book about sex. I was afraid to hold it. Opening it made my heart race. I was afraid to be seen standing in the aisle. I had to switch aisles. I was a long way from the children's section but this was the one place in my world where I could see what a naked girl my age looked like. In the photograph she was standing in a line of girls and women, each progressively taller, older, rounder, fuller. If I had been able to at the time, I would've given this book a nobel prize just for this photograph. I wanted to know what girls were hiding and this was the one book that had the courage to show me the truth. Just having the chance to see the truth was satisfying, not to mention the fact that I was fascinated by the changes represented in those bodies. That I had to hide myself in a corner of a public library in Lincoln, Nebraska in order to see this truth opened up many questions for me.
The last time I was in a library I saw a grown man sitting in front of a computer unashamedly clicking through pictures of large breasts in bikinis on Facebook. If this man were able to do it, I'm sure he would give Facebook a nobel prize for providing this type of literature. He and I are products of a culture that fetishizes the human body. All primitive cultures fetishize something. They give it a specific charge, either positive or negative. It's the "why" that drives a community. Cowboys drive a herd of cattle by negatively fetishizing the land on either side. Men are driven the same way. For us to build a truly free society, one marked not just by sophisticated technology but also by a sophisticated culture, we will have to destroy the fetishes that drive us.
It doesn't matter what types of literature you like. Whether you like reading science-fiction or sampling world literature of an adult nature, just keep in mind that your choice is a little nobel prize of its own. Your choice dictates what kind of writing takes place. If you want humanity to live like cattle, do nothing. If you want to be a cowboy like me, see the fetish for what it is. Destroy its power.
Pronunciation of Fiction Press
I have yet to publish a pronunciation for the words "fiction press."
Video of me pronouncing "fiction press."
Definition of Fiction Press
A Fiction Press is that part of a country's press that doesn't really care for the facts, which in a democracy includes almost all of a country's press.
References for fiction press
I have yet to find good references for Fiction Press
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 #3153
youd think sprint would be impressed that i got so close to mcdonalds. twice. instead being treated like im in the dog house.
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.
I know the lure of success. I feel the pressures of domination. That farmer who sows rye in every field is not a victim. Nor is he some kind of scab. He is a player in a game with no teams, and he deserves no one's pity or awe or respect any more than the rest of us do. Your father always had to win. He would go and cry if he lost - every time. Once, your great-grandfather held a race for the boys and girls. Jesus was distracted for some reason; he missed the starting gun. His first reaction, unfortunately, was to complain. Realizing that the race had already started and wasn't going to be stopped, Jesus went for it. He went as fast as a young boy could, just so he wouldn't have to bear the shame of coming in dead last. He was beaten by a girl. She received first prize and Jesus received second. He was infuriated. Second prize was obviously inferior - too inferior. First prize was an electronic game system. Second prize was a fancy pencil sharpener. Jesus went and cried, not realizing that the prizes were personal: they were designated. Nor did he realize that the girl's family was rich, and his family was, in comparison, very poor.
In those days, frustration was rampant. Insecurity was plaguing the masses. People were afraid. Private security firms were ascendant; only the rich could afford them. The most prominent, SECURITA, gained a government contract. They began spying on people. They began arresting them. Sometimes, they got the hard jobs, and sometimes, they got the easy ones (when the terrorists invaded Poland, they were placed in charge of the southern frontiers - far away from the action). There was injustice everywhere: an atmosphere of pressurized vengeance. There was absolutely nothing that the average man could do. People didn't trust the law: they feared the courts and hated the procuracy - even rich men resented it. The police were often helpless. Armed forces fostered suicide.
"She's an alcoholic," she said. "People have seen her drunk all the time - and yet, they don't understand how bad it is. It's really bad. When I would come home, I would find her lying on the stairs, passed out, soaked in her own urine. It's disgusting - and I'm the one who has to clean it up. My father doesn't do it. I'm the one who has to do it. 'Zoe, Zoe, help your mother.' He's never been a father to me. The only time he needs me is when Momma's found herself in some kind of trouble - when she's in public: when she takes the dog out 'for a walk' and comes back drunk. She hides bottles of liquor in the bushes. Why? Because I would always empty them out and fill them with water. 'Please, Momma, don't drink' - but she doesn't listen. She only tells me never to get married. She's mad at my father for having made her have children - can you believe that? She tells me that she never wanted to have children. I'm her daughter for crying out loud. I don't want to hear that: it's depressing. My father forced her to have me? Alright: maybe - if he raped her. But did he force her to abandon music? I don't think so. I think she chose that. I think she regrets it now - that's what it is. My father's only her excuse. She drives him insane. I think he's turning alcoholic too. He beats her sometimes - when he's mad. I used to cry, but now I think she deserves it. She's a terrible mother.
Your grandfather approached. "How do you like it?" he asked, pointing to the buffet standing next to me. It was very impressive. The buffet tables were stretched along the entire length of the nave, but the one standing next to me was particularly impressive, featuring, as it did, a large pièce montée.
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.
As for Indiana, remember that these feelings are not completely subconscious, though the bulk of them may indeed permeate the fabric of her thinking. And don't forget Albert. I have no idea what he is feeling, although I can imagine the kind of stress that can come from having to deal with a woman like Indiana everyday. She is not the only person under pressure, and as much as I would like to believe that they cause themselves more stress than any outside force, I don't think that's necessarily true. Thankfully, we are not subject to so many unkind forces. I am grateful for that; and I'm sympathetic: they are good people and I like them, warts and all.
– Title 2, Regarding the Romaniac, Part 1, Section 5, Warts, Paragraph 4
As charming as it must seem now, I have to confess I was not in the best mood to accommodate Macy's excitement over having recognized me. Truth be told, I could hardly remember in what context we had met on campus, and his efforts to describe this or that party were not proving fruitful. But of course he was handsome, and exceedingly charming. In fact, I made a remark to my companion some time later that week, complimenting Macy's amazing control over his own face, and after I explained to her that I meant his ability to draw on a multitude of expressions, each very appropriate, and sometimes quite telling for a given circumstance, she had to agree completely.
ANDY: Do you see what I'm saying? If two people can have sex without loving each other, and they can also love each other without having sex, then what exactly justifies that statement: that sex is the expression of love? As far as I can tell, there is nothing. There is only the reality that loving a person makes sex that much better; it doesn't make it necessary.
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 5, The Fifth Day, Part 1, Greenery & Land Reform, Section 5, Surrendering the Debate, Paragraph 6, Clauses 1-2
After Nike left us, we went back to Vinnie's. Before long, the auction started and Luke began reassuring Barbara that he would help jack up the price. I told him to stop being silly; we had only been kidding and if Luke actually started bidding he would only ruin the poor girl's reputation. Instead, I offered my own services: if the need should arrive, I would start a bidding war. Barbara loved the idea. "You'll make all the guys jealous!" she said, and she told me to do it anyway; but I had to laugh because I wasn't really serious when I said it. But before I could say that, something happened and Barbara's attention was taken away. I was left feeling obliged; Barbara's turn was coming up, and just as I was wondering what sort of impression I would make, our collusion was trumped by the two girls in front: they started making out.
There were two books put aside separately. One was the New Testament; the other was an Hungarian cookbook. Both of them had seen a lot of use, but they were beautifully bound. The New Testament was a special edition, in two languages: Hungarian and English. I opened the book to the Gospels and, sure enough, one side of the page was Hungarian and the other side English. There were notes penciled all over the margins, and some serious underlining; difficult vocabulary words on either side were circled and referenced. The Gospels were heavily marked up, so were the Acts of the Apostles. I turned to something a bit more out of the way: the First Letter to Timothy, Chapter Five - that too was marked up. I was impressed. I wondered whether Albert had learned more English or more theology.
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 1, The First Day, Part 1, Victory & Calendar Reform, Section 7, Revealing Literature, Paragraph 3
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.
Clark watched Shephard bring the cup to his lips. He said, "It's business." Shephard took a sip. He swallowed it. He cocked his head. He squinted. Clark sighed. He knew his friend would be skeptical. He turned around.
Never do that, thought Shephard. He must have told Clark a hundred times, "It makes you look weak."
"The Chinese say the Emperor went to great lengths to please her. He had her entire village re-created with a functioning mosque and a bazaar. Jujube trees were imported. They bore golden fruit. The Uyghur say the concubine didn't care for it. She kept daggers up her sleeves, prepared to strike the emperor at any moment. The Chinese say she eventually fell in love. She bore him children. Whatever the case was, the Uyghur are convinced the Empress Dowager had her eunuchs strangle her to death."
"Your sauciness notwithstanding," replied the Lady, "I will reward you." Taking Ferrari through the garden, she pointed up to a stained-glass window flanked on either side by two fastigiate poplars. Rising like Macedonian guards, they made a distinctly imperial impression. "Beautiful," said Ferrari.
"I didn't want you to fall in front of the villagers. You want to impress them. If I had taken you straight into the desert, you might have been thrown onto the sand. I might not have heard you. The last thing you would have seen before dying of exposure would have been a camel's toe. Is that what you want? To almost make it?"
"You're right," said Clark. "I'm not a ladies' man. I'm comfortable in groups. I split bills. I sweat. I iron my socks."
An hour later, a jump-ship landed next to the tower. A man in a space suit climbed out. He opened the outer seal. He saw the broken window. He returned to the ship. He took out a large tank of air. He repressurized the module. He succeeded in opening the emergency door.
Tatum was on the other side. She was pointing a gun at him. "Take it off," she said.
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.
ALICE: I forgive you. Be a man once more.
FLETCHER: With a man's heart, I thank you. No longer must you fear my advances. The object of our intimacy has been achieved. I intend to follow your lead and pledge my life to the woman I love.
ALICE: Do I know her?
FLETCHER: You do. I love Kokomo with all my heart. My soul yearns for her soul's touch.
ALICE: In that case, let's finish these scenes in celebration of your restored manhood and your love for Kokomo.
FLETCHER: I know just the right page from which to start. 'What a blessed thing it is to confess! The firmly wound nut, when leashed to its bolt, will weather every blow. No strain is so big, no pressure so strong, no hand so steady, nor no patience so long that would eventually break the metal's hold when applied to just one end. It would turn forevermore in tantalizing defiance. Bring two solid hands together - with two worthy hearts - one to hold tight the bolt, the other to untwist his soul - and you shall feel the immediate release that with it brings joy, the work of resolution, and the ease which maketh that work seem slight.'
ALICE: Well proclaimed, poet!
FLETCHER: If only the rest were so good.
ALICE: I have no doubt it will be.
FLETCHER: As a show of thanks for your faith, I hereby expunge certain kisses from this scene, restoring to its solitary glory the one final kiss of the scene's end - if I may be so bold.
– ACT II, lines 194-203
MS. JACKSON: I've been very happy with your service. You've become absolutely indispensable to this venture. Should you choose to continue with me far into the future, I would be most grateful. I already consider you a part of the family. If you should ever have the desire and the opportunity and the willingness to formalize that relationship - sacramentally speaking - I mean that in the fullest sense of the term - even if that requires a certain individual to confirm himself into the Catholic faith - I want you to know that you would enjoy my full support. I mean, namely, that, if one should be so lucky to have you for - I mean, if I should be so lucky to have - that is, I suspect you would find me a better mother-in-law than you have an employer. It's not that I pry. I've realized that - I'm not completely off the mark, am I?
KOKOMO: No. I simply never imagined I was so-
MS. JACKSON: Clearly it took me a while to - anyway: that's that.
KOKOMO: Thank you.
MS. JACKSON: It's incredible how much you remind me of me when I was your age. I too was filled with confidence. My family recognized my strength and valued it. I consider it my duty to strengthen others. May I confide in you?
KOKOMO: Yes.
MS. JACKSON: What I want to tell you isn't easy for me to describe. You have a right to know. I became pregnant with Fletcher before I was married. It took pressure, if not outright coercion, before Grey Goose finally agreed to wed - even though he had always talked about it as if it were a sure thing. I've never understood why it had to be like that, but I feel it's been at the root of most of the problems we've had. I just wanted you to know so that you could be careful.
KOKOMO: Thank you. I can't imagine how hard it must have been.
MS. JACKSON: Indeed. You see how long the pain can last. Be wary, child. Do not commit the same mistake I did.
KOKOMO: I won't.
– ACT II, lines 14-23
GREY GOOSE: Imprisonment: starvation: being pressed to death.
MS. JACKSON: Is that what awaits me, husband?
GREY GOOSE: No.
MS. JACKSON: Then what?
GREY GOOSE: You know what the penalty is.
MS. JACKSON: Homelessness? You think that if you burn my house down, I'll come live in your sty? Fool! I'd rather wander about the island cursing your name for the rest of my life.
GREY GOOSE: Do you know what I adore about fire? More than its color, its beauty, or its warmth? more than its light, its speed, or its age? more than the fear it brings to bug or beast? more than its purity? its fertility? its never-ending energy? or its ability to wander about the island endlessly seeking out its prey? More than all those things, I love its loyalty to itself: its obedience to nature. Oh, wife! When you know how to stoke her, she can be so perfectly predictable.
MS. JACKSON: Fletcher would never let you get away with it.
A story book full of short fiction stories. An interesting bedtime mystery. A fairy tale. Science fiction romance. Adult life. Uninspiring gay fiction. Horror.
Indiana said, "Come here." Her hand was on my shoulder. I leaned towards her. She kissed me. She pressed her lips into mine. She ground them gently. I didn't do anything.
Indiana broke it off. She moved back a few inches. She stared at me. The indoor light was on. She could see my blank expression.
Indiana brought her hand to my cheek. She kissed me again. I kissed back.
The ambulance arrived. The professor was pronounced. The cops showed up. Statements were taken. The body was hauled off. Expressions of regret and complete disbelief were shared. Mark was dismissed. He went back to his rounds. Even after everything that happened he was still able to finish his deliveries an hour before his evaluated time was up. He went home happy. He could sit on his couch and pretend he was being paid to drink margaritas for fifty minutes. He bragged later to friends and family that not even seeing a man die could slow him down. So they call him Magnificent.
Jeff suddenly stopped grooming. He came close and said, "I hear you're a virgin. Is that right?" I was taken completely by surprise. It took me a moment to nod yes. "I've had sex once in my life," said Jeff. "I regret having done it. I want you to know. In case you have the wrong impression." He went back to grooming. He left after a while. I sat listening to tree crickets. One pitched high. The other pitched low. As if they were discussing the disturbing growth of cicadas in the neighborhood and whether they should just move out. By dark the cicadas were everywhere. The constant buzz left me adrift. Jeff's words like a raft bubbling up and down in my head. To think he and I could be anything alike.
Steve and I announced our intention to go fishing. We warned the others the nearest pond was quite the hike away. It was going to be dark soon. Peter didn't mind. Neither did Mary. She walked the entire way in her flip-flops. I know she got sore because on the way back she was limping. She fell behind. I thought Steve would make sure she would come back alive but he walked into camp alone. He didn't know where Mary was. Nobody seemed to want to search for her. I expressed confidence that she had probably gone to her car but she traipsed out of the woods just as I was going to breathe a sigh of relief.
Something drains from above. It is my comrade. She pours in through the hole of my skull. We are together again. I open my bags and pull out memories for us to share. She in her ink-stained petticoats. Me adjusting my stockings. We have just pressed five thousand copies of Workers Unite. We are hot to pleasure ourselves.
We will honor every struggle with a voiceless laugh. We will be happy to be here. We will find a way to live again. We embrace.
St. Sebastian was a member of the Roman Emperor's praetorian guard who had the audacity to teach Christian values while on the job. I think active duty American military men and women who don't vote or who don't publicly express a political opinion because of the uniform are either being idiotic or are being cowed by the threat of punishment from a superior. Either way, they're eunuchs. My purpose in creating the St. Sebastian Series is to put the flesh and face of the true soldier front and center. The good soldier puts his mission ahead of himself. He often ends up dead. The true soldier knows a bad mission when he sees one and he isn't afraid to say it. Saint Sebastian was not a cow, despite what clever people would have you believe. Saint Sebastian is a patron saint for all protestors who face the arrows of the mob for speaking out.
Help me keep the "Fiction Press" page alive...
If you love women and art...
Michal is exporting art...is he berserk?
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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