Michal markets his movies under the trademark of a feminist cafe... Why?
Posted:
I greatly enjoy the company of women. I enjoy the company of men in slighly different ways. I never considered myself a pervert. When I consider the popularity of violent and humiliating images of women, I start to wonder. Maybe I'm strange for not enjoying them. Maybe I'm the one whose not normal. In which case, I have to do something to change those norms.
I'm learning how to listen to women - even if they sometimes say horrible things. I want everyone to have the same opportunity.
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 30: The People's Poland
Janina recalls her experience visiting the solitary store in Warsaw, run by a bank, where she could buy quality products for dollars, and the many hucksters who crowded the area looking to make surreptitious trades.
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 had come to Europe to document people practicing naturism. Preliminary arrangements had been made to meet with an Egyptian nudist visiting the Continent and there was some kind of Pan-European gathering scheduled to take place in Croatia. I had arranged for an assistant to come along with me to help with anything I needed, but when her passport was stolen the night before we were supposed to leave, my plans went awry. I decided on something less ambitious. I would visit a naturist sauna in the city of Bielsko-Biala, Poland which I had just found on the internet. When I got there, I met Margo.
I had an American passport. She didn't. And the fact that I was driving a car with Polish license plates gave her ample opportunity to point out the difference. It wasn't just police and border guards who ethnically profiled me. Regular folks did it too. One campsite owner didn't shake my hand until he realized I was an American. By that point, I had trained myself to use a simplified English, something that more closely resembled what passes for a lingua franca in Europe these days. Something Margo was trying very hard to master.
There were times during our trip when I thought there might not be a happy ending. There were times when disaster was close and I wondered whether I hadn't made a mistake. I wondered whether fear, anger or sadness might triumph and one of us would have to finished the journey alone. Though I dangled from the cliffs of Normady I was saved. Though the lights went out I rode on. Though I ran the tires down to the wire I was okay. We drove home in one piece. We came home happy. We had started the process of learning how to listen and the sound of it was beautiful. We could be sure that we were ready to conquer the devils that abuse us no matter how long it would take.
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: Panchatantra Stories
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 Panchatantra Stories
I have yet to publish a pronunciation for the words "panchatantra stories."
Video of me pronouncing "panchatantra stories."
Definition of Panchatantra Stories
Panchatantra Stories are a collection of light reading for people who clear their browsing history when they hear mom coming up the stairs.
References for panchatantra stories
I have yet to find good references for Panchatantra Stories
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 #4865
theres a storm coming. im surprised it took so long for one to find me. im in hurricane alley.
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.
About five hundred years before I was born, man set foot on Mars. He brought materials with which to build, tools with which to dig, a furnace to keep warm, fuel to burn, and food to eat. He walked, like most men, on his own two feet. He brought instruments with which to study, cereal to grow, and batteries to keep his various electric motors moving. He brought radio transmitters and television. He brought a suit, and a carpet. He brought drugs, soap, and water. Above all, and most of all, he brought with him air.
If your father had known that, he might have had his lieutenants wait: they were his only family, and, despite their self-respect, they were definitely not Capitalists - but neither was your father, for that matter - or at least, he didn't feel like one. In real terms, he was very much a Capitalist, a recent Capitalist; but no matter how recent one's fortune, if there was a fortune, there was a Capitalist. New Capitalists were not made all the time - in fact, for the established Capitalist, the only thing more exciting than new capital was a new Capitalist. You never knew what to expect. He or she might destroy you; he or she might make you very rich: he or she might make you a Supercapitalist. Then you would thank him or her. But if he or she destroyed you, then you might just commit murder. And the penalty for killing a Capitalist was death. The penalty for killing a Supercapitalist was bankruptcy and death. It was known to happen quite often, even among Capitalists.
"'She's a domestic,' I said. He laughed his head off. 'That's right, boy: they cook and clean and take out your garbage and you'll find out the rest when you're older.' He started walking away laughing. 'Wait!' I yelled. 'What about the story?'
Personal design was key. A Capitalist would spend, at most, an hour for grooming, but his or her family might take an average of three hours for an average occasion, never less than two, and five at most (although seven was not unheard of - especially if Guderians were involved). The way you could tell was by counting the difference between a Capitalist's arrival and his or her family's. No Capitalist would ever wait for his or her family, no matter how quick they be and even if that family were his or her greatest pride. It was a great sign of disrespect among Capitalists if one of their kind were suddenly to arrive with his or her family. What would they do? Talk business? Look stupid? It was inconceivable. Families were always late in coming.
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.
Next to the dolls, there was a beautifully varnished music box. I took it out from the glass case and opened it. Inside, there was a beautifully carved ballerina, ready to dance in circles to the music. So I began winding the music box, expecting to hear the sound of Bartók, or perhaps the tune of some Magyar folk song - in either case, not expecting to know the music. But, when I released the knob, the ballerina began dancing to a recognizable tune. I had to chuckle: it was Henry Mancini's theme from Love Story.
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 1, The First Day, Part 1, Victory & Calendar Reform, Section 6, The Drawing Room, Paragraph 3
I amused my company with a story about how I first came to London, and how I took the Underground to Leicester Square, and then proceeded to walk toward Shakespeare's Globe for a performance. "According to the Underground map," I said, "it was only a hop, skip, and a jump across the footbridge. But, after crossing the River, there were absolutely no signs for the Globe. And, with half an hour to go, the South Bank kept stretching in front of me, until finally I had to run for it. That was the first and last time I used a Tube map to navigate. It took an Olympian effort to make that show, especially since I didn't even have tickets. Luckily, they were able to squeeze in another groundling; but after hauling myself across that bank, no matter how good they were I could hardly stand the performance."
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 1, The First Day, Part 1, Victory & Calendar Reform, Section 11, The Underground, Paragraph 7
There is nothing like philosophy to kill the spirit. And don't try to infer from my history of failure that somehow my judgment has been flawed all along; I assure you that the overwhelming majority of gentlemen, and of course ladies, who have presented themselves to me as potential companions have done so with the utmost regard for disclosure. What many have lacked in dignity, or especially tact, was generally offset by charming attributes in other areas. And I feel no shame in confessing that often enough our relations were hampered only by my own indiscretions.
– Title 1, Regarding Peaches and Bananas, Part 1, Section 1, Introduction, Paragraph 2, Clauses 7-11
But Macy was shaking his head: he said there were still plenty of situations where such desperation would be necessary. I agreed, of course, and I began telling him the story of our second cousin, Stefan, who, as you know, sort of ran off to get married. "He went to school in Prague," I told him, "and he met someone there - a beautiful woman.
Now it was precisely at this point in Mother's story that a very specific memory came flooding over me. We were at Lincoln Center, in the lobby of the concert hall during intermission. I had taken you to hear Teresa Walters play, and, although I kept raving about her marvelous rendition of the Piano Sonata, you were strangely indifferent.
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.
"Turn around. Never mind. There's too many people. You can't see anything. That girl back there was hot."
She was a whitetail deer about to be caught once again in our headlights. Had she any idea we were stalking her-an innocent woman in the woods-what could she know? It was my dream; her nightmare. What was she to me? An image? A figure of a brave and beautiful woman? Vulnerability personified?
A breeze puffed the woman's veil. An under-veil of white peeked out. The crown held them in place. The creases of a carefully wrapped linen wimple budged. The woman imperceptibly cocked her head. Imperceptibly, she squinted. She started holding her arms back as if preparing to run. My eyes fell to her pleated guimpe. It hung from her shoulders broad, firm, clear-finished-a serge from the fiber of a noble sheep. The chevron weave pointed down.
She was alone-in the Bois de Boulogne-at night-why? Walking with purpose-where was she going? For what? If a prostitute, why here? Was she lost? Her first night on the job? Ridiculous. On a midnight stroll, why the wimple? A nun? Heaven forbid.
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 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
FLETCHER: That's a good story.
MS. JACKSON: From what could be gathered.
LESBIAN: I was taken advantage of once. I was at the Kammermusiksaal one day - actually, it was the night: the evening. It was fall: late fall: October. I had just attended a concert - a very good one - chamber music: it's my favorite. Anyway, this was Berlin and everything is very neat there - at least in that part of the city: the cultural part with the museums and everything. I didn't think it dangerous just to cross the street: Tiergartenstraße - to take a stroll in the park - Tiergartenpark. It's not like it was that late or anything. It was October. Naturally, the days were short.
FLETCHER: And the nights were very long-winded.
MS. JACKSON: Fletcher!
LESBIAN: I'm sorry. I don't think it's going to be very good.
MS. JACKSON: Please continue, Homo.
LESBIAN: This man came up to me in an overcoat and exposed himself. Can you believe that?
FLETCHER: Nice.
ALICE: How big was it?
– ACT I, lines 180-189
FLETCHER: 'You don't float around staring off into space? You don't flinch when I reach out my hand? You are a fish. You're a catfish. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to tease you. I'm serious. I want to know what's wrong. Are you sick?'
ALICE: 'No.'
FLETCHER: 'You certainly don't seem healthy. I'm going to Father. Maybe he knows what's wrong with you.'
ALICE: 'Fait, Toc. I fay tay you.'
FLETCHER: Toc is my name, by the way; they're my initials. Father is John Jackson, the last of the mutineers - not our real father. 'Alright: speak.'
ALICE: 'Many year aro when you were ritter, te women try to escape in a poat fur of hor. Te men say tat tey fix it, put tey not fix it. Tey laugh when I catch te crap ant ah te women fa in te vater.'
FLETCHER: 'I know this story. Susannah, you're no stranger to water. Don't tell me you're afraid that I would put holes in my canoe and make you fall in.'
ALICE: 'After tis, ah te women talk apout is kirrin' te men. Ant two of tem try.'
FLETCHER: 'You're not saying that you might actually kill me if I humiliated you?'
ALICE: 'I tey you, Toc. You ask me; I tey you.'
– ACT II, lines 81-90
(GREY GOOSE exits. ALICE and FLETCHER enter with scripts in hand.)
FLETCHER: Thank you for doing this. I appreciate it immensely.
ALICE: It's my pleasure. I love supporting new plays and new playwrights. Is this a comedy or a tragedy?
FLETCHER: I suppose it's more of a romance.
ALICE: Which part am I playing?
FLETCHER: You are Tera-ura. I'm playing Thursday October: Fletcher Christian's son.
ALICE: Cute name.
FLETCHER: He was named after his birthday, despite the fact that he was born on the third day of the week. I guess Wednesday October would've sounded more like a girl's name.
ALICE: Am I a Tahitian woman?
FLETCHER: You're not just any Tahitian woman; you're my ancestor.
A story book full of short fiction stories. An interesting bedtime mystery. A fairy tale. Science fiction romance. Adult life. Uninspiring gay fiction. Horror.
Branca lives in California now with her husband. Her old torch-bearer, Fr. Rebelo, lives outside Boston. I'm not sure when they last saw each other but it couldn't have been long ago. Rebelo does weddings for the family. He just did one for Lima child number ten. I don't remember any of their names. In fact, old Sir Lima announced at that wedding that henceforth a Lima marriage would not be valid unless performed by Rebelo. That's one of those chummy deals that's kept Hong Kong in business through the ages.
I got off the bus at a small town. It was a two hour wait for the minibus to the village. People in the square stared at me. I kept hearing the words, "Dirty chocolate. Wipe your face." Something possessed me to buy a towel and a box of chocolates. I walked around with them. It made me feel like I was in on a joke.
On the fourth day I read aloud again from Dostoyevsky's The Idiot. I was practicing my diction. After I got tired of reading I started thinking aloud. I was discussing with myself the imagery in the story. Relating it to my own situation. After amusing myself in this way I decided I was being silly. I sat in silence again. I thought about Barack and his twitching and the general ignorance of people.
The day was bright when I left Moscow. I was in such a cheerful mood I had to stop myself from smiling. People were always telling me always to smile. People who never smile themselves. As if there's nothing wrong with a black man who's smiling. A black man who's always smiling looks like a fool like anybody else. I was foolish enough just doing what I was doing. I had to keep my face quiet. The entire bus ride I stared at my reflection in the window. I wanted to look confident without seeming too proud.
Life is a spinning sphere with Joy at one pole and Sadness at the other. Each continuously feeding its pair. Joy flanked by the emotions of Trust on one side, Surprise on the other. Trust leading to Anticipation; anticipation leading to Fear. Surprise leading to Disgust; disgust leading to Anger. Anger and Fear fueling our Sadness. Sadness giving way, in time, to Joy; through Hope, an orientation towards Love. Love, an openness towards Joy, Trust and Surprise; the sum of emotion; emotion amplified by others. Multiplied and divided, in equal parts. Such that to those from whom it has been subtracted, we must add. Until we are whole.
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Michal is exporting art from Poland...is he touched?
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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