Michal spends his time making films for women... Can he explain himself?
Posted:
To me, the vagina is a symbol of equality and acceptance. In our modern age, we may not all have passed through one, but the door is always open - to everything, for better or for worse. I want to protect that idea. I want others to open themselves up to the needs of others. I want them to listen.
Through hard work and perseverance, I've learned to start listening to women. I'd be proud to give everyone a chance to make that lesson stick for them.
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.
If the clip has trouble playing please try a version with a lower resolution.
Woman
Product or Mystery?
The Vagina Cafe hosts a presentation for women inspired by photos taken in Afghanistan, dealing with the different cultural norms that women in either society face.
Help End the Abuse of Process 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...
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.
Call it an accident. Call it divine will. I was never supposed to meet Margo...if not for one man's random criminal act...another abuse piled upon humanity by a fellow human. A robbery. A purse-snatching of a purse that happened to contain a passport. An assault on the human body. One of society's bad habits that I had come to fight as an artist working for body acceptance.
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.
Each man grows up with his own kind of poverty. Even if he's got a warm house and plenty of food and a soft bed and plenty of entertainment, there's always something that a man needs. Sometimes he just needs to be listened to, if only by the birds and the trees, but preferably by another man, even if he's an artist from America who isn't very good at listening. By learning how to listen, we learn how to cooperate. By cooperating, we build a better world. In a better world, there are no devils to abuse us. A better world doesn't lend itself to abuse because a better world is populated by people who have learned 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: Narrative Fiction
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 Narrative Fiction
I have yet to publish a pronunciation for the words "narrative fiction."
Video of me pronouncing "narrative fiction."
Definition of Narrative Fiction
Narrative Fiction is the fiction that actually makes sense because there's an actual story rather than just rambling thoughts.
References for narrative fiction
I have yet to find good references for Narrative Fiction
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 #3938
the bug transmits all the way to the car. i called the house phone. it came in loud and clear. im heading back to the office.
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.
In the latest, it read, in a series of ethical dilemmas, Georgetown University has lost yet another controversial professor to the world of big business - this time to Yariba, the corporation responsible for the Olympus Mons Regeneration Center, the chief gear in a massive integrated power and irrigation system that forms the lifeblood of the planet Mars. Yariba Corporation, an energy and transportation conglomerate based in Japan, but with branch offices throughout the red planet, has become interested in Prof. Mae Mac's research in tissue-integrated robotics in conjunction with its so-called Jupiter Project, Yariba's expansion into information systems which hopes to place the management and operation of the Olympus Mons Regeneration Center into the hands of a so-called supercomputer. Prof. Mae Mac, who plans to relocate to Mars, has just returned from a six-month sabbatical in Poland. Back in her plush, three-story home in Alexandria, Virginia, which she shares with longtime companion...
Your father dressed his top lieutenants in the national colors of Poland that day - not for any personal reasons but because the wardrobe was being provided by a right-wing Polish political party, which, having lost most of its parliamentary seats in that year's parliamentary elections, was, nevertheless, courting your father's support for its presidential candidate. Your father was saving as much money as possible for his Independent (Lower Silesian) Riflemen's Armored Brigade and its upcoming deployment to Mars, and, not having made any specific promises to the League of Polish Nuclear Families, was more than willing to allow them to outfit his men. After all, the wedding was taking place in Poland, in a Polish Church (the Sanctuary of Lichen), your mother was being married to a Pole - however disgraceful and corrupt a Pole - and therefore, there was no reason why your father, a very, very proud Pole himself, shouldn't have been wearing the old royal colors of red and white. In fact, your father took the liberty of reducing everyone's chest measurements by a small but significant margin, making sure that every single member of his party, after having trouble putting on his jacket, had appropriate posture.
Next to the Xerox, in the margin, Yoga Balls had written: this is the true copy of the original certificate of citizenship - stamped and signed by Yoga Balls, notary public.
Meanwhile, the Martian Governor-general was facing deep-seeded unrest. Constant and often violent opposition was coming from every single direction. Autocracy and corruption had so destroyed the Martian economy that massive inflation, shortages, and worst of all, separatism plagued Centropolis. Rich Martians blamed the Governor for doing nothing. Therefore, while the United Nations were busy with Sadatmo, the Governor-general's personal security service entered the historically-restive region of Elysium and forcibly evicted both protestors agitating for separation and the loyalist reformers who were willing to cooperate with Centropolis from the government offices that they had occupied. There was significant bloodshed.
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.
I feared Macy, but I had not gone to Luke's room simply to avoid him. Sheltered in that warmth of steam, its gray dampness - cool drops of water gathering on the tip of my nose - warm gusts caressing my body, making me shiver with excitement - I did not admit to myself that I had come there to pleasure myself, to pamper myself, to prepare meticulously, to stare with giddy anticipation, and then, to unleash recklessly my physical beauty; all for the sake of Macy, so that I might join the party and stun him.
It made me wonder what kind of people were giving Luke his reputation these days. They can't be that much different from the ones we knew: no self-respecting woman would ever shag in that apartment - but I guess that goes for men too. In fact, what self-respecting person would ever choose to have anything to do with Luke in the first place? He can't possibly be raping them - the walls are too thin - unless he uses drugs - ah, but let us not speak of that.
And to further my justification, I also thought we had been rescued from that facetious duty of having to judge some wine superior to the rest, thereby making such and such a vintage exorbitantly expensive, falling into the hands of the wine industry, et cetera, et cetera. The truth, as I discovered much later, is so much more banal. The wine-making process remains wonderfully complicated for me - I really don't know what amount of moisture will ruin a grape - but I've come to realize that if one simply drinks enough wine one knows what is crap and what is not; among those which qualify as good wines, the onerous classification of aroma and color and whether it be fruity or "reminiscent of Morbier on the palette" is all that distinguishes between them.
– Title 1, Regarding Peaches and Bananas, Part 1, Section 1, Introduction, Paragraph 1, Clauses 17-19
Much to my pacification, Macy thanked me and assured me that he was in fact in the theatre - at least involved with it on campus, which delighted me, since I had a friend who did likewise, and I promptly enquired if he knew Nike, which he did, much to my great satisfaction, for Nike had always been a great gentleman, besides being the ingeniously dramatic person he is. And so it was that Nike became a fabulous topic for us. As we explored the absurdity of his tendencies, it stood us in good stead especially when my cousin was unable to join us, she herself being a great amusement.
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.
"Shut up," said the Captain, digging his knuckles into his desk. "You're lucky the Governor had his own naked business to attend to."
"How was I supposed to know the boat was owned by a parole officer?"
Meanwhile, the Tokyo Metropolitan Police, at Patsy's suggestion, searched rooftops near sites of questionable suicides for evidence of anything remotely resembling a breakaway collar. They found nothing. Detective Morimoto was discouraged. Sitting by the bay, he saw a white egret fly past him. Landing in a pile of refuse, it reminded him of the old saying, hakidame ni tsuru, meaning, a crane in the garbage dump.
Junior's days turned dark. From his empty corner office, he often sat and stared as Nyota talked in the distance with Ann Taylor or Randy Fitzwater, discussing no doubt particulate levels in the base or the market potential of whatever it was the company made. Sometimes she would look up and catch Junior staring at her. A smile would start to creep across her face as she slowly turned to look back down at the paperwork. Junior was left to wonder if she were somehow missing the despondency he was sure was etched across his face, or if she were misinterpreting it as a simple matter of desire.
Patsy was ecstatic. He asked the Secretary of the Interior if he could go officially to Japan and assist the Japanese in their investigation. "Absolutely not," she said. Patsy went to her husband, explaining, among other things, that if a U.S. Park Policeman were to make an arrest in the Liberty Island case, it would mean the Secretary of the Interior would be holding a big press conference. Television has a way of boosting a politician's prospects. Eventually, the Secretary gave in.
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: How do you manage?
KOKOMO: With gourmet coffee, with freshly baked strudel, and with sweets: when they put you in charge of the kitchen, the world is yours.
ALICE: Don't they look at the bill?
KOKOMO: Deciphering a budget one no longer handles is more difficult than knowing the composition of a meal one has never cooked. If you can make trevally taste like wahoo, you can make dimes turn into dollars.
ALICE: Are you saying we had trevally for lunch?
KOKOMO: Everybody thought it was wahoo.
ALICE: I wish I could cook meals. I'm not very domestic.
KOKOMO: I had to learn the hard way. My mother was sick for a long time.
ALICE: I'm sorry to hear that.
KOKOMO: She's better now.
– ACT I, lines 820-829
ALICE: It's difficult. I like it. Sometimes I do wish he were more sensual.
MS. JACKSON: I know the feeling.
ALICE: When we have sex, it's all about the penetration. There is no foreplay.
LESBIAN: Nothing?
ALICE: Spread 'em and weep.
MS. JACKSON: Men are such animals - present company excepted, of course.
ALICE: Did you see that performance they put on?
LESBIAN: Absolutely dreadful.
ALICE: I thought it was sexy.
LESBIAN: It reminds me of a dance I saw in Fiji.
– ACT I, lines 394-403
(KOKOMO exits. GREY GOOSE enters.)
GREY GOOSE: My darling Polynesian beauty, Fletcher must be right. It's pointless for me to put the moves on you - especially since it's obvious you're in love with him. My chances of success were always slim. I never lost faith in a woman's whim. I was certain, if I tried hard enough, you would let me taste-test your sweeter stuff. Each one of my advances you rebuffed. You're too good. My situation has changed now that my dear wife and I are estranged. Perhaps some trickery can be arranged. If I were to slip softly into your bed, not smelling like chattel, but like that perfume you gave my son - that little brat - who cares more about annoying my wife than pursuing the love of his own life, even though I'm the one she causes strife - perchance I might convince you with a kiss - before you discover my artifice - that I am the best way to earthly bliss. It would give me joy. My desire to light this house on fire would be assuaged. Despite what I have said, I will never ignite another house again. I am reborn. Ever since your mistress unleashed her scorn, making me sit in filth, lost and forlorn, in my old cowshed, I have taken stock. I'll no longer blindly follow the flock. I cannot yet say the same for my cock. If my wife's got a lover, I'll be damned if I don't. I'm not going to be crammed away. I'll come back with my monogrammed pajamas. I'll drink champagne and cut loose like there's no tomorrow. I'll introduce Kokomo to my little one-eyed goose and she'll say I'm her daddy. My excitement notwithstanding, I must not invite suspicion. I'll save my strength for tonight!
– ACT II, line 30
MS. JACKSON: I will go insane if I don't find out.
GREY GOOSE: It's all very simple. These two have been running a racket: a confidence game. Kokomo plays the prostitute, whose story is so ridiculous it must be true. Finding out for oneself is the challenge. If she's the best lay in the South Pacific, one should know the difference.
FLETCHER: Satisfaction guaranteed.
GREY GOOSE: Cash comes rolling in.
MS. JACKSON: I don't understand. What happens when-
FLETCHER: By the time they get to bed, they think she's a charity case.
GREY GOOSE: She vomits on them and that's it.
MS. JACKSON: Vomits?
FLETCHER: It turns me off.
MS. JACKSON: How?
– ACT II, lines 431-440
GREY GOOSE: I've waited long enough, woman. I deserve an answer.
MS. JACKSON: I will not answer you.
ALICE: Why not?
GREY GOOSE: She's guilty.
MS. JACKSON: I've done nothing wrong.
GREY GOOSE: Swear to it.
ALICE: There's no reason not to tell the truth.
GREY GOOSE: Unless you're a rat.
ALICE: Remember what I told you. There are three things which everybody is owed: honesty, gratitude, and remorse. As my grandmother taught me, one must say, 'Thank you,' and 'I'm sorry,' and, by gosh, one has to mean it. If you've had cause to hurt somebody, you should tell that person you're sorry and you'll try to make sure it never happens again. Unless you know it will - in which case, you recognize that something is difficult. If it's something to which your partner is contributing, you make a resolution to cooperate on that. Eventually, things work out. If you've done nothing wrong, you thank your partner for his interest, humbly deny any involvement, and proceed to send him off on his merry way. I took marriage lessons with Luke for a year. They were quite helpful.
A story book full of short fiction stories. An interesting bedtime mystery. A fairy tale. Science fiction romance. Adult life. Uninspiring gay fiction. Horror.
The Amazon assigned a top-notch surveillance unit to watch Orbitz's every move. They watched him clear out his flight deck locker. They watched him go to the gym one last time before turning in his passcard. They watched him share a smoke with the old-time janitor. They tweaked their earpieces as they listened to him tell stories about the janitor's great-great-grandfather who was shining floors and taking names the last time Orbitz was around. They fell asleep. The Amazon found out. He went crazy. He warned them that Orbitz was capable of anything. He had a thousand year head start. He was the richest man in the universe. He spoke hundreds of languages. He could have treasure buried on every planet in the Orion cluster if not the entire Orion arm of the galaxy. They were sleeping while Orbitz was on a transport to Earth.
Steve O confessed what he had done to Adam. "I was licking her asshole," he said. "What's worse. I think I liked it." Adam had become by this point a comrade-in-arms. Steve O shared everything with him. Like the time he was curing his headache on the sofa. And he accidentally shot the medicine into his mouth. "What's worse," Steve O had said, "I think I liked it."
The Astrazeneca were confused. They started shaking their humongous heads. Some said, "This is truth?" They raised the tone at the end of the statement as if it were a question. Others said, "This is false." It sounded as if they wanted to believe it but they weren't sure. It was a disaster.
To promote democracy, the strong must empty themselves of their strength. The weak must be granted the opportunity to grow strong. We cannot force the end of patriarchy. To do so simply perpetuates feudalism under a different name.
Help keep the "Narrative Fiction" page...
If you love women and art...
Michal is exporting art from Poland...is he gaga?
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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