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...
On the second to last weekend of June, 2011, I had joined my fellow naturists at a gathering of the Naturist Society in rural Pennsylvania. The next day I left on a flight for Europe. By the end of the week I had unexpectedly met another naturist, a woman, who was destined to accompany me on a tour of Europe's great naturist resorts.
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 considered myself young and able, and being American I often convinced myself I was more than able. She didn't feel quite so young. Having grown up in Poland, what was and is still considered by many to be a poor country, she had the added burden of not only being disadvantaged but having it held against her. The difference became palpable when I realized I couldn't even properly translate into Polish the very American word, "opportunity." A chance? Sure. An occasion? Why not? An opportunity? Not in the book.
As far apart culturally as we may have been, we spent 6,000 miles in one car. We spent over 40 nights in one tent. We started learning how to listen to each other. We started learning how to accept our differences and how to let them help us instead of driving us apart. Slowly but surely, we started learning how to beat the devils that abuse us.
6,000 miles across Europe with a complete stranger
During our trip across Europe, Margo very bravely opened up to me and to the camera. It was a difficult thing to do considering the scars that she carries. I wanted to share with the world her often joyful, often sad, often angry but always liberating experience except that the Internet is full of pictures of naked women and men and full of trolls who abuse them.
I realized that what I really need to point out is not the openness that Margo and I cultivated between ourselves, but the darkness that continues to surround us. When I censor nudity, I do so in a way that does not compromise the integrity of the human body. In censoring the photographs that Margo and I took during our trip, I was quick to notice that in those pictures where Margo was at her most open, at her most unguarded and most relaxed, in a word, when she was herself and basking in the sun I was forced to blacken her completely.
Why does our society drive people into darkness? Why can we not accept ourselves as we are? Why can we not accept our bodies? Have we truly become eunuchs? Or are we capable of defying the sickness that pits us against each other? Together we could conquer the devils that abuse us.
Whether you enjoy being nude or not, whether you've been photographed nude or not, but especially if, for you, like for Margo, it's something you never thought you would do, consider submitting your own photograph to be published in a censored manner as a form of protest against the ubiquitous presence of the human body on the internet, naked or not, that is published and duplicated ad infinitum without context and without regard for the identity or the needs of the individual being depicted.
Michal's Dictionary: Wall Art
Art is the expression of an idea. Often that idea is simply the form of the expression itself, the beautiful or not-so-beautiful shape of an otherwise meaningless gesture. This is decorative art. It encompasses everything from origami to cheap romance novels. It is popular and if you want to put a decorative print on your wall, you can buy one at a place like Ikea.
Most artists with ambition create documentary art, meaning the ideas embedded in their work relate to something beyond the undulations of their expressiveness. Instead of just making a new twist, they try to make that twist seem extra clever. It means something beyond being just a twist. In the most obscene cases, an artist won't even tell you what it means and suggests you figure it out for yourself. No other profession gets away with this. It's like a prostitute who says he's not sure if he does anal.
I try not to be clever. Trying to be clever is what I used to do when I was a child and I wanted attention. I try to be right. I try to discover the truth and pass it along. I try to trust my own judgment.
I've read most of the Bible. It's not a code of laws or something you put on your coffee table because it looks nice. It's one of the greatest documentary works of art ever compiled. When common people started reading it, the Reformation happened. Not everybody read the whole thing, nor did they necessarily understand what they did read, which is why not everything got reformed in the right direction. In their defense though, some parts of the Bible aren't even written in the right way. We all make mistakes. It doesn't mean we shouldn't keep working towards the right reform. That is the idea at the basis of the best art. It's the idea that I'm going to keep repeating because I am too old to be clever.
Pronunciation of Wall Art
I have yet to publish a pronunciation for the words "wall art."
Video of me pronouncing "wall art."
Definition of Wall Art
I have yet to publish the definition of Wall Art.
I'm sure it won't take too long.
An index for wall art
I have yet to index the section Wall Art
Samples of Fiction from Michal's Corpus
Michal's Fiction Corpus of Acceptance Literature (FiCAL) is presented under the Bare Bottom imprint. It is currently comprised of six bodies of work, each representing a different pillar of culture and incorporating a wide variety of writhing styles.
A story bible for a comic book series set in a post climate-change California narrated by eight characters who live through a natural disaster that sinks Los Angeles and triggers a war with an expansionist Mexican government covertly supported by China.
Frame #4253
the wall on this side has a rough stone veneer. i can climb up to the balcony.
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.
One time, I successfully defended myself against a hooligan. In the middle of the night, I was once awakened by the stampings and shouts of a group of late-night rabble-rousers. They were climbing up my apartment building's main stairwell. Outside my door, they began ripping apart various pictures from the walls. They were cheap pictures, mostly posters, but I was very angry for being awakened. Going to the kitchen, I grabbed a large knife and lemon, and, going to the front door, I opened it. Leaning against the doorframe, I saw my provokers' faces. It was my upstairs neighbor's eldest son ripping off paintings from the wall. There was an older boy with him, along with his baby boo and some other ugly girl, perhaps the older boy's girlfriend. They all ran down the stairs. My neighbor was left alone. Ever so slowly, I began slicing my lemon. My neighbor came up to me - not too close, but close enough to be 'in my face.' My knife was pointed right at his gut.
He invited us all to sit around a round table - a small, round table. We sat down. The room was small; there was nothing else in it except for the round table and four small chairs. Jesus put his pistol on the table; it lay against the bare wooden surface, pointing at the wall; Jesus put his hand on the pistol; he raised an eyebrow. Nigel raised one too.
That was it: Jesus had to give up: he was laughing too hard. He tried to return Zoe to the ever-growing hillock of sand beneath her feet, which, thanks to the softness of the ground, had successfully been forming ever since Zoe began frantically kicking into the wall of the precipice. However, that particular hillock had grown too big. It started to avalanche and Zoe refused to let go.
We were taken to the second floor. In the foyer, I happened to notice a clock that was hanging on the wall. It said, at the very bottom, in cursive writing: 'High-Class Quartz Clock.' Decorated with fabric flowers and machine-pressed forms made of a kind of copper alloy, it was, at best, a dubious claim. The hands didn't even move; either a new battery was needed, or the clock simply didn't work. He must've taken it from the trash, I thought. I imagined him doing it.
The next day, I told the older boy that if he actually knew the real words, he should teach them to us. So he did. Your father had a solo during the stupid assembly. He decided to sing the real words, which went like this:
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.
Returning the book to the shelf, I began idly wandering around the room. I stopped in front of the wall where Albert had placed his diplomas. There was an award for winning a mathematical Olympiad in Berlin: nineteen seventy-one. "Before my time," I said to myself, and I continued walking. I stopped in front of the large bay windows. I looked outside. Already 'twas dusk. There was no one in the street. I felt uneasy. Going to the fireplace, I looked for a fagot to burn. But there was nothing. Getting up off my knees, I glanced upon a strange object on the mantelpiece. It was a piece of paper - in a large ornamental frame. Written across the top in large print was the word, 'ACCEPTED.' But most of the paper was devoted to a large mathematical equation. I reached for the frame to get a closer look, but, when I removed it from the mantelpiece, two photographs fell to the floor.
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 1, The First Day, Part 1, Victory & Calendar Reform, Section 8, Financial Instruments, Paragraph 1
Nike had to explain to Luka that I was not like other people, that I had no idea what they understood by the term 'work,' that I was not really a piano teacher - at least, not in the professional sense - but that I was, in fact, a writer pretending to be 'working' on a novel, which really meant that I was only "staring at the wall" or "consuming massive amounts of jellybeans, shitting coffee in every color of the rainbow," et cetera, et cetera, but certainly not doing work in the common sense of the term. According to Nike, the most I was doing was sharpening pencils. I thanked him for the explanation. "But really," I said, "is there anything you want to see in particular?"
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 2, The Second Day, Part 1, Labor & Economic Reform, Section 3, Comparing Men, Paragraph 2
That really irritated Nike. If only he hadn't been so tired: he might've looked for something missing. If only he were smarter - ah, but no: what could he have done? Call the police? That would not have been smart. Luka? saying something about people coming? Maybe if he had listened - oh, but it's too late...and they're not gonna find anything nice in that wallet.
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 4, The Fourth Day, Part 1, Our Constitution & Constitutional Reform, Section 2, Dealing with Creditors, Paragraph 7
NIKE: Why am I here? I'm here to protect you. No, I'm sorry, I was walking because I, uh, left my wallet actually, here, um, during the day, and I, uh, didn't realize until a few hours ago, you know, after it got dark - but the thing is: I knew exactly where I had left it: can you imagine? I knew exactly, so, I had my friend drop me off and I went to get it. I have it now: I found it. But, uh, why are you here?
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 2, The Second Day, Part 1, Labor & Economic Reform, Section 22, Encountering Poverty, Paragraph 70
Indiana's piano, in my memory, seems like a gigantic whale, grinning at me with its black and white teeth. The fireplace looks like a massive cavern, with a gigantic wooden pylon marking its entrance, gigantic chain-mail curtains framing the ashen path. Outside the drawing room, the foyer is like a universe. The chandelier is like a sun. The main stairs: they are a path to heaven: a broad and dangerous path: its steps are gigantic steps; one must leap onto the next one with all one's strength, only to falter back to one's death. But Indiana gracefully coming down the stairs: she is a goddess. She is a radiant beauty. She puts the chandelier to shame. She lights up the universe. The whale sings out her beauty. The caverns are emptied of shadow. The walls tremble. The portraits in the hall are shaken; the tapestries flap. Far away, the kitchen burns, and the dumb waiter speaks delicacies. That is her house in my memory. That is she who now haunts this quiet room with her absence.
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 1, The First Day, Part 1, Victory & Calendar Reform, Section 4, Self-image, Paragraph 2
A collection of stories featuring a sexy Parisian ghost, a spooky Moon base full of vagina-faced aliens, a policeman with an Irish name, a truck full of watermelons, a flautist, and a man who has to see another man about a diseased horse.
Tatum stopped. At the back of an otherwise empty pool, Neal was seated against the wall. A Manga person had its mouth wrapped around his modesty. Tatum strode up to the edge of the water. Neal saw her. He blanched. He pushed the dirty Manga off of him.
Tatum said, "What makes you think you can get away with it? I want it back."
The wind caught the lee. The boom swung back. Junior yelled, "Jibe ho!" It was too late. As Harry stood confused, the full force of the boom hit him in the ass. He was overboard. It was a good thing Junior made him wear that ridiculously oversized life preserver.
Back on dry land, Junior kept trying. Harry Connick hit his foot with the croquet mallet. He could only get one inch off the ground on the climbing wall. He even almost drowned in the pool of balls.
Shephard and Clark ran to their camels. The imam appeared in the portal. He was shaking his fist. Clark and Shephard rode west. At the end of the wall, they turned north. They reached the end of the complex. Ridges of sand rose in every direction. A tunnel carved its way toward the desert. Another tunnel led back to the mosque. The imam emerged at its mouth. He was still shaking his fist. Shephard kicked his heels into his camel.
One day, after a hard game of netball, Dorothea went to the girls' locker. She always waited until most of the people had left. She needed to make sure the private shower was unoccupied. With the water off, she started soaping herself. She realized she had once more forgotten to buy a new curtain. This one only came down to her knees.
A pair of giggling women came rushing into the otherwise empty room. Dorothea sat on the seat. She lifted up her legs, resting them against the wall. She didn't want anybody to see them.
"Go to America. Tell them how beautiful road is in China. They will not believe. It is. I ask you: two things man build and see from space? One, Great Wall of China. Two, Great Highway in Tarim Basin, also in China-but more important: my province, Xinjiang. Long live Xinjiang. Long live China."
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.
(KOKOMO moans again.)
MS. JACKSON: There it is again.
LESBIAN: I heard it.
MS. JACKSON: It sounds like-
KOKOMO: (off) It's so big!
MS. JACKSON: Kokomo!
GREY GOOSE: (off) Don't worry. It'll fit.
MS. JACKSON: Grey Goose!
KOKOMO: (off) Just stick it in there.
GREY GOOSE: (off) Patience, my dear. I don't want to tear your walls.
– ACT I, lines 928-936
LESBIAN: How would he feel if he saw us?
MS. JACKSON: What does it matter?
LESBIAN: It does.
MS. JACKSON: Why?
LESBIAN: I don't want hurt him either.
MS. JACKSON: Is that what you're afraid of? Are you afraid of what people might say?
LESBIAN: That's ridiculous.
MS. JACKSON: Are you afraid of having to stay here on Norfolk?
LESBIAN: I'm not afraid of anything.
MS. JACKSON: Neither am I. I'm not afraid anymore. I'm not afraid of arson or gossip or what people might say if they knew about us. I've been set free from all of those things. I'm no longer afraid of being hurt. Oh, Homo! Do you know what I suffered? It was worse than any prison. The walls were all around my heart. It was like being perpetually pinched. I am grateful to you for saving me from all of that pain. You showed me freedom.
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 bank on the corner of Lima and Rebelo streets was a big bank. It had a glass tower reaching up into the heavens like every other building in the area. It was an old bank. Its first two floors were refreshingly free of the massive luxury watch billboards and perfume ads that littered the eye in every direction. The walls were made of stone. Walking further I realized it was just a facade. But the wall that ran perpendicular to Lima and Rebelo streets had a gallery on the second floor. It was the one old thing of substance I could see. The one part of the old building you could actually stand on. For a second I imagined myself in 19th century China as if I were a young Rebelo in love with a young Lima whose father owned the bank and whom I was dangerously wooing from the street with a bouquet of flowers. The world was beautiful and full of hope. Until the garbage truck honked for me to get out of the way.
"Stay here," said Proctor. "I'm going back to see John." When Proctor got to John's building, there was a squad car outside. An officer behind the wheel. Upstairs his partner stood outside John's door.
"Just you?" asked Proctor. The officer nodded. "Okay. Have a smoke."
"Thanks, boss." The man walked off. Proctor knocked on the door. When John opened it, Proctor busted it wide. He threw John against the wall.
Proctor found the key. He decided a man carrying a carpet was probable cause. He entered the apartment. It didn't take long to find a photo. It was vic number three. Proctor called in the cavalry. He ordered a search. His phone rang. It was the captain. "Vic number two's fingerprints were in the database," He said. "He got busted for cocaine three years prior. I talked to his bondsman. Says an artist by the name of John Gamble put up security for him." At the sound of the name Proctor audibly swallowed. He wondered if the captain had heard.
Proctor put back the letter. It didn't mention his name. He looked around. The wall was gleaming. He went to it. He touched it. Wet paint. He looked around. There were specks of red on the floor. Blood. There were more specks. Leading towards a door. Proctor pulled his gun. He went to the door. He opened it. A bathroom. Proctor turned on the light. A body in the tub. Floating in a pool of red. John's husband.
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 keep the "Wall Art" page alive...
If you love women and art...
Michal's importing art from Poland...is he meshuggah?
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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