Michal makes movies for women... Did he get permission?
Posted:
I'm not a fool. I know that most people indulge their baser emotions. Wanting to feel dominant or submissive comes easy. Wanting to approach someone on an equal basis and reaping joy from that requires a high level of cooperation. It requires you to consider another person's needs as if they were your own.
By listening to women, I'm becoming a better person - even if sometimes it's very hard to do. I'd like to give others a chance to take up the challenge.
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 22: A Cold Wagon
Janina describes how their group built a roof to cover their open train wagon, contrasting their summer journey with the one faced by a teacher of hers earlier in the war, who was exiled to Siberia by Soviet forces and forced to travel in an unheated wagon in the dead of winter with an infant child.
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...
When I arrived in Europe on the 20th of June, 2011, I had no plan and certainly no idea that by the end of the week I would be practicing photography with a woman I had never met, a naturist who had never before allowed herself to be photographed nude. It was the first of a whole series of firsts for the both of us.
As an artist, from the beginning of my adult career, my work had been devoted to the problem of body acceptance, a goal that I would later learn was shared by a whole community of people called naturists, a humble portion of which I discovered residing in Poland, a country whose cultural conservatism does not lend itself readily to forward thinking. One of those forward-thinking Polish naturists happened to be Margo.
I had grown up in America. Land of opportunity. I came of age in the booming 90s when everything was possible. She had grown up in Poland. She had come of age at a time when the Soviets were making sure that there wasn't even anything to eat in the country. I couldn't even properly translate the word "opportunity" into Polish.
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: Real Love Tester
Each successive pillar of culture is built upon the previous one. Just as you cannot have Saturday without Friday, you cannot have a strong military without successful children. You can't have successful children without good science. Proper science requires a strong and confident body politic to accept its conclusions. A strong body politic, a peaceful assembly, is made up of strong families. A family is built upon labor. Labor is guided by art.
Good art is a good idea well expressed. A victory over oblivion. Carry that thought down the line. Efficient labor sows the fruit of capitalism. The members of a loving family pray to each other. A just constitution keeps the assembly focused. Science studies movement. Education inspires children. Children grow strong and defend our freedom. Democracy thrives.
Our problem is not that we lack a strong army or smart teachers or scientists or political dialogue or money or prayer. Our probem is that nothing ties it together. Our culture is unraveling. We have business executives who only care about the bottom line. We have church leaders who only care about the good name of the church. We have politicians who only care about getting re-elected. We have artists who only care about their self-expression.
Our pillars of culture have climbed quite high. Yet there's nothing but hot air at the top. There's no roof over our heads. We're exposed. Either nobody taught the people at the top to listen to each other or the only way to get to the top is by not listening. Don't say nobody taught us how. Whenever people try we crucify them. That has to change. We need to accept the fact that we are building this church of Man together and it needs a roof.
We need to bridge the pillars of culture.
Pronunciation of Real Love Tester
I have yet to publish a pronunciation for the words "real love tester."
Video of me pronouncing "real love tester."
Definition of Real Love Tester
I have yet to publish the definition of Real Love Tester.
I'm sure it won't take too long.
References for real love tester
I have yet to find good references for Real Love Tester
Use of Love in Michal's FictionCorpus
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 #988
i got the photos. my blow.up is the best one. life.size. like a lover. covers my entire face.
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.
Now, in those days, there was a great passion among the elite for all things nineteenth century. In the realm of men's fashion, the tailcoat was preferred for all formal occasions, accompanied by a waistcoat, elaborate neckcloths, and close-fitting trousers (the top hat was discountenanced). Color was encouraged.
In those days, women wore anything that resembled something from a famous hand-tinted photograph from the nineteenth century. There was a free catalog available on the Internet, listing all the famous collections and the most famous photographs, organizing them by date or location, or photographer, painter, model - every criterion available - but especially by women's dress. The crinoline; the cage crinoline, dome and pyramid, flat in front; the crinolette; and the bustle were all represented in their various forms and colors. Even pornographic photographs were readily available to show off every type of undergarment. Famous women wore bloomers underneath their petticoats: the kind with an open crotch and single button, which made it much easier to have sex fully clothed, a favorite and celebrated pastime for the elites.
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.
Perhaps someday that city will grow to the very edges of the Hellas plain, measuring the whole two thousand kilometers of the basin's diameter. It would be the greatest city in the solar system. Or, perhaps, the city will be completely abandoned, once the hydrosphere threatens it with flooding. It may depend on what you choose to do, my child. The future of Centropolis hangs in the balance - there is no doubt about it. The city's founders never imagined a day when the atmosphere would reach one thousand millibars, and yet, your great-great-grandfather, Hitler Panzer-Tank, was the first governor to go outside in the light of day without his suit and breathe normally with an oxygen tank.
In those days, America was everywhere: in your eyes, in your ears, your nose, your mouth, your hair. You could smell it, taste it, brush it away with your hands - but it kept coming back. It was under your fingernails, lodged permanently between your toes, your legs, your buttcrack. Everywhere you went, you felt it. Walking down the street, you felt it. Everywhere you went, you found it. Getting off the bus, you found it: there it was! right there: in front of you: next to you and above you - always out of reach, like a dirty cloud. If you went to the store, you found it. If you went shopping, you found it. The shelves were never empty. If you went to the woods, you found it. If you went to the hills, you found it: America! the beautiful! Amber waves of grain! Purple mountains' majesty! Majestic, purple skies! filled with mountains! The haze! Once-fruited plain! Dizzy, dizzy, dizzy! The fox-trot! The twist!
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.
Of course, my family disapproved of everything, even though my cousin succeeded so fabulously in making a fool of himself. He was too desperate for something beautiful, which she was, indeed; but our Stefan was not the first to notice, and he didn't know that she already had two children. It's an old story, Macy, but, unfortunately, the romantic versions are dead; they are buried in mounds of literature. Damsels are still in distress, but they are more often subject to their own greed than to the greed of their fathers. True love has lost its footing; it no longer waits by the windowsill: the tower has fallen down."
He knew he went crazy, and he hated him for it. But there's no way he wasn't part of that cult; he loved Stalin's methods - he was just a little bashful about it. But that's why Hungary was the highest point of his career: it let him do the things he really enjoyed. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that Khrushchev made that secret speech with full awareness of what might happen in the Eastern bloc. He liked the idea of national communism; that's why he liked Tito so much. He was a nationalist himself, not a hard-core imperialist. Unfortunately, the Hungarians brought disaster on themselves, or I guess Nagy was to blame. The problem was: they took their cue from Poland, but then they stopped paying attention. In the summer of fifty-six, a workers' strike was brutally suppressed in Poland. People were agitating. But when Khrushchev showed up in Warsaw, he was placated. His Polish comrades told him exactly what he wanted to hear: don't worry; we've got it all under control; national communism is the way; three cheers for reform. What did Nagy do? He said he was leaving the Warsaw Pact and he appealed to the United Nations. The United Nations! He must have been crazy. Khrushchev probably had a good time executing him.
But Macy was still shaking his head. "There is still true love that's being thwarted. There are still damsels in distress," he said, "but many of them are interested in each other" - he smiled - "and that's the source of their misery."
After Nike left us, we went back to Vinnie's. Before long, the auction started and Luke began reassuring Barbara that he would help jack up the price. I told him to stop being silly; we had only been kidding and if Luke actually started bidding he would only ruin the poor girl's reputation. Instead, I offered my own services: if the need should arrive, I would start a bidding war. Barbara loved the idea. "You'll make all the guys jealous!" she said, and she told me to do it anyway; but I had to laugh because I wasn't really serious when I said it. But before I could say that, something happened and Barbara's attention was taken away. I was left feeling obliged; Barbara's turn was coming up, and just as I was wondering what sort of impression I would make, our collusion was trumped by the two girls in front: they started making out.
I was driving in Nike's car; actually, I was being driven. Nike was driving and I was floating beside him. Sometimes, I came rather close to his face, especially when he turned right. But when he turned left, I was pressed against the passenger window. Apparently, in my dreams, centrifugal force can still control my consciousness. Even as he went over a bump, without hitting the roof, I would bob up and down - very strange.
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.
Their origin story is known by a Huastec village woman in the Mexican province of Veracruz. It was told to her about sixty years ago by her great-grandmother, who herself learned the tale from a passing deserter from the French Foreign Legion who happened to take one of the village girls for his bride. The woman is far advanced in age. Her Spanish isn't good. She refused on quasi-religious grounds to be recorded on magnetic tape. I was forced to hire a translator from the capital-at great personal cost. This is what she said.
The fire burned brightly. The men operating the bellows had never felt such heat. Many of them collapsed. Beads of sweat formed on Gog's brow. They turned into cataracts. He threw the first rock into the pit. Something marvelous occurred.
The rock formed a bloom. The furnace of Atar had never seen such metal. Copper, lead, silver, even gold had dropped through its flues. This was new. It was a gift from the Holy Bhag.
Shephard stopped. He pushed the idling motorcycle towards the west. The humvee was four hundred yards away. It was moving out from behind the truck. It was gaining speed. The armed police wanted more. Shephard hoped they were foolish enough to follow. He leaned down. The petcock valve was already in the reserve position.
Those who claimed descent from Gog assembled. The men from the west fought each other to the death. The men from the east did the same. The champion of the west faced the champion of the east. The champion of the west prevailed. He faced the son of Gog. The son of Gog was slain.
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 sees GREY GOOSE.)
KOKOMO: What are you doing? How long have you been standing there? Speak.
GREY GOOSE: You're in love with my son.
KOKOMO: What's it to you?
GREY GOOSE: Does he return your affection?
KOKOMO: He should know.
GREY GOOSE: This is why you always opposed me.
KOKOMO: I always opposed you, Grey Goose, because you stink - like old burning wood with fungus on it - like ammonia when I'm cleaning up cat poo - like the bar when you and Fletcher drink too much Guinness and I have to go peel his face off the table and you have to stand right next to me and fart. That's why I opposed you.
GREY GOOSE: Alright.
KOKOMO: You stink like vulture's breath - like a wet dog that's been sniffing at three-day-old beached dolphin.
– ACT I, lines 227-235
GREY GOOSE: That's not what I mean.
MS. JACKSON: You devil!
GREY GOOSE: Ms. Jackson! Did you confide in the Aussie police - God preserve their infernal souls - your suspicions that I might be capable of murder?
MS. JACKSON: I will not answer you.
GREY GOOSE: Bitch!
MS. JACKSON: How dare you speak to me in such a filthy way?
GREY GOOSE: I will speak to you like that for as long as you deserve it.
MS. JACKSON: How have I merited this barbaric intrusion into my home and this battering of my senses? I am a scorned woman.
GREY GOOSE: Don't start playing the martyr.
MS. JACKSON: You seem to think I'm afraid of telling you the truth. I'm not.
– ACT I, lines 291-300
(MS. JACKSON enters.)
MS. JACKSON: Grey Goose!
GREY GOOSE: Speak of the devil.
MS. JACKSON: Up to your old threats again, are you?
GREY GOOSE: Not at all.
MS. JACKSON: Get out.
GREY GOOSE: Stop trying to run me out of my own home.
MS. JACKSON: This is a place of business, mind you, of which you have none.
GREY GOOSE: As it happens, I do.
MS. JACKSON: What's that? Threatening arson?
– ACT I, lines 252-260
(LESBIAN exits.)
MS. JACKSON: Please look for it, Kokomo. It's been in the family for generations. It's priceless.
KOKOMO: Yes, ma'am.
– ACT I, lines 223-224
LESBIAN: I was in Goroka - in the highlands of New Guinea - in September, I believe - for the cultural show. There I saw the Mudmen.
MS. JACKSON: Who are the Mudmen?
LESBIAN: The Mudmen make these clay masks - some big, some small -all of them hideously grotesque with giant noses and sharp, pointy teeth.
MS. JACKSON: They dance around with these masks?
LESBIAN: With mud caked over their entire bodies: from neck to toe.
ALICE: Are they naked?
LESBIAN: Of course not: they're wearing masks. In Rabaul - on the island of New Britain - I saw the famous Baining fire dance. There they wear masks that are made from bamboo, which they cover with tapa, a kind of bark cloth. That makes these masks very light. Naturally, they're even bigger.
A story book full of short fiction stories. An interesting bedtime mystery. A fairy tale. Science fiction romance. Adult life. Uninspiring gay fiction. Horror.
"No," said Proctor. "There's more. It seems that John may or may not have had a fling with my wife back in the day. I still haven't talked to her about it. The whole thing is upsetting. I need to be taken off the case. I'm sorry. I need to protect Elizabeth. If there's any chance the killer might go after her." The captain agreed. He granted Proctor some time off.
I was the smartest. I was the strongest. So I survived. That's life. That's what needed to happen. But what happened to my sister. When I came home. What she did? That was a pity. It was unnecessary. My sister didn't need to love a Curiazo. They were the enemy. She could've had a bit more sense than that. I don't blame her. Love is love. She did what she had to do. That's the truth of it. My sister wanted to die. That's why she attacked me.
When Proctor got home Elizabeth was packing her bags. She was going to her sister's. She didn't want Proctor coming along. She told him to look at the news. John Gamble was all over it. So was his dead husband. Found in a love nest. Which sources claimed he may have shared with a cop.
"I don't know," said John. "Maybe anybody. I wrote him a letter before we got married. I told him things. People I had made love to. Not everybody. Not that last guy. That was after the wedding. He found out I cheated on him. Proctor, I'm sorry. I couldn't help it."
"Am I on the list?" asked Proctor. He dug his arm into John's throat. "Am I in that letter?"
It started with my friend Aaron. Steve as I call him. He's from a Jewish family. Reformed. He's big on cooking. Gardening. Real nature buff. Knows plants by sight. He loves Woodstock. When he suggested I go camping up there with him I was all for it. I'm usually up for anything.
It's natural to hide dirty things. They're embarrassing. But we need to keep in mind that when we hide things that are difficult, we make them seem dirty when they're really something else entirely. And when we keep things that are easy in plain sight, we make them seem clean when they really aren't. That is dangerous.
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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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