Michal enjoys giving away HD calendar wallpaper with a naked woman on it - is he... you know... ?
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As Margo says, when you get old is up to you. Your age shouldn't be determining your value. But shouldn't our values be determining our age? Shouldn't we be measuring time in a way that reflects our greatest and most noble principles? Do we want a calendar that is wrinkly and dry, sanitized of human emotion? Or would we rather have a calendar that counts the human heart as part of its parade of rising and setting suns?
When I say the word art, a lot of people probably think of paintings and sculptures. These are common art forms, but they're not the most basic. One of the most basic forms of art is the calendar.
Consider the fact that, in another 2000 years, the Gregorian calendar will be off by 1 day. We'll know that because the vernal equinox will on average fall one more day away from the day it's supposed to be falling on, March 21. It's supposed to fall on that day because that was the day of the vernal equinox in the year of the Council of Nicaea.
The council that met at Nicaea was the first great ecumenical council of the Christian community and it was supposed to settle the date of Easter for all Christians twelve and a half centuries before the Gregorian calendar was proposed. The Pope was so keen on keeping the equinox close to March 21, he chopped 10 days off his new calendar. Presumably this was supposed to help Christians unite. Unfortunately, the attempt failed. However, it exemplifies the importance of a calendar in uniting a community.
I choose to use a calendar that starts the new year on the vernal equinox. It makes sense to me that a solar calendar should align its sequence of months in deference to an important solar phenomenon, rather than to the calendar date on which that phenomenon occurred seventeen centuries ago when people were using a completely different calendar.
You may not be prepared to adopt a different calendar as long as everybody around you is still using the one Pope Gregory reformed back in the 16th century. That's okay.
I'm offering you free calendar wallpaper so you can think about how important the calendar is as an art-form, not just as a way of counting the days but as a way of organizing our culture and giving our society a direction.
If you think society is heading in the wrong direction and needs a little help, you can try to celebrate Love Your Neighbor Day as I have done - by placing it between Saturday and Sunday - and seeing how you feel. You might feel power and freedom from having broken the cycle of Monday to Friday, Saturday, Sunday. I did. It empowered me and gave me a sense of peace that continues to fuel me to this day. Maybe it can fuel you too.
The HD Body Acceptance Monthly Poster Calendar, A.D. 2014
high-definition digital wallpaper featuring the intelligent and graceful Margo Rijnvis
Margo and I hope that this calendar will brighten your day and lift your spirits high every time you visit your desktop.
Download this monthly poster calendar for July 2014 with a black background
Help End Ad Hominem Attacks With Art
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Strength and dignity are her clothing...
Proverbs 31:25
Author's Note: I have been enjoined from sharing the details of my true romance adventure until such time that the other party is prepared to present her perspective on the affair arrangement...
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.
Though as an artist I had been working on body acceptance since the start of my career, and as a one-time practicing figure model was used to being nude in a social setting, I had been left largely unexposed to the community of naturists and nudists working towards the same goal of promoting the human being. Visiting nude beaches and resorts along the East Coast and participating in events organized around New York by Young Naturists America, I was left hungry for more and had come to Europe to see things from their side of the pond. Margo was my introduction.
As an American, I was full of optimism and confidence bordering on recklessness. I was ready to run the wheels off the car I had just bought and eventually I would. As a European, she was cautious and mistrustful. She needed to make sure the air conditioner worked. Which it did. If you knew how to turn the broken knob in just the right way.
I've never been married. I've never been divorced. I've never had kids. I've never lost my kids. That doesn't mean I can't try to understand somebody who has. By listening to Margo during our trip across Europe I started to consider her needs as if they were my own. I may not have been in a position to satisfy all of those needs, but I was able to shut up and put my own needs aside if I had to for at least 6,000 miles. We all need to be listened to and it is the one need that we all have a duty to satisfy. When somebody prays to another human, as a human you have a duty to listen. Humanity needs to start teaching itself that skill.
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: July Calendar
The great thing about Acceptance calendar reform is the fact that I will never have to throw out a monthly calendar again.
But until the world has adopted this beautiful reform, and incorporated the idea of peace and love into the way we measure time, we will continue to throw out monthly calendars.
Therefore, in order to promote reform among those still enslaved by the legacy of Rome, I will have to make a new monthly calendar every year just to keep up with the absurd Gregorian system that I've already left behind.
I make these monthly calendars for you.
Pronunciation of July Calendar
I have yet to publish a pronunciation for the words "july calendar."
Video of me pronouncing "july calendar."
Definition of July Calendar
I have yet to publish the definition of July Calendar.
I'm sure it won't take too long.
References for july calendar
I have yet to find good references for July Calendar
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 #298
jayce - i called the number. its definitely not a telemarketer. a man i could understand picked up. well have expedia trace it tomorrow.
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.
Those were not laughing days, child. In those days, there was much hardship. Sixty-eight years before I was born, Yellowstone exploded. Five thousand cubic kilometers of boiling magma came to blanket the Earth, kill mankind, terrorize his animals, and fell his favorite trees. Earth bled, and the sky grew dark. It rained blackness. The whole planet stank like a struck match: burning brimstone, like the Bible says - in other words, black clouds of sulfur: they came to suffocate, incinerate. In faraway places, water turned to steam: it boiled. Volcanic ash came tumbling down. The wind blew steam and hot rock. Millions died; the rest wept black tears.
My grandmother told her own story: "We were eleven years old, my sister and I. We were traveling with other children: some younger, some older. We were - all of us - very hungry. One day, we found this old woman living on her own - actually, some young boys told us about her. They said, 'This woman has a chamber with bread and cheese. Go to her house and ask for bread. Meanwhile, we'll go and steal the food.' So we went to the woman. We told her how hungry we were; we asked for bread. She was very kind: she gave us soup - very good soup - and bread. We left very grateful for the woman's kindness, and felt sorry, since we knew that the boys had robbed her. They took half a round of cheese - white cheese: it was very good. They took all of her bread; we ate everything she had. A few days later, while passing through some other village, one of the girls with us died of typhus. During the funeral, we went to confess, but all of us kept going to the back of the line - we were scared, since the girl had died. Finally, the priest took notice, and, leading us to the sacristy, said, 'Why do you children keep going to the back?' We answered, 'Forgive us, Father, for we have sinned.' He was very surprised. 'We all share the same grave sin,' we said. 'We were hungry, and we robbed a woman of her food.' The priest said: 'You have not sinned: you did not take her food out of spite or for pleasure, but because you were hungry.' And he blessed us that very same day, the whole gang, right there in the sacristy."
He wasn't the first Panzer-Tank to try. Apparently, that honor will forever belong to Sherman 'Lucky' Panzer II. I will always remember the unforgettable day your grandfather told me his story: it was the night before your blessed mother's wedding to the atrocious Sacha Cohen-Krupnik. A great ball was being held at the Sanctuary in Lichen.
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.
He will enter his library, look at his books, organized by subject and then by date of publication, and then he will find the oldest ones missing. He will wonder what has become of them. He will wonder whether he ever had them at all. He will climb up into the attic, thinking he is looking for something, but he will not find anything of worth. If it be winter when he does this, it will be too cold to stay there searching. And if it be summer, it will be too hot.
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 1, The First Day, Part 1, Victory & Calendar Reform, Section 1, Cancer, Paragraph 1, Clauses 2-8
But I must emphasize the role that visual stimulation plays - because it's my imagination that really serves to intensify the experience, and I am always inspired by what I see. For instance, let me describe to you my latest feeling, the one that I experienced by sitting here next to Albert, and which, not too long ago, prompted this whole description.
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 1, The First Day, Part 1, Victory & Calendar Reform, Section 5, Inflammation of the Loins, Paragraph 3, Clauses 1-2
I have also taken notice of your desire for poetry, but I must confess that I am not in the mood for waxing poetic. These modern hospitals are not quite fitting; they are too sterile, too mechanical; there are too many synthetic materials, too much plastic to be a good place for fostering passion. This corner is too quiet, too deadly quiet: a good place for writing - but not poetry; whether it be for my poetry or my prose, this hospital wing is too orderly; the rhythm here is too tired, too much going about one's business with a barely disguised reluctance. There's no way to wheedle any poetry out from these people. They are probably underpaid - but then again, I know nothing about British health care, and I'm not the sick one, so I won't complain. I don't think you want any elegies - although, when I look at Albert's quiet body: the once sturdy frame slowing sinking into itself - an elegy is all I can think of writing. But there is time for that.
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 1, The First Day, Part 1, Victory & Calendar Reform, Section 2, Poetics, Paragraph 5
On the other hand, I must not forget that I am sitting at the end of the private ward: most of the nearby patients are very rich people; they are probably educated; I'm sure that among them there is more than one pretender to a laurel crown; and together, they form a rather appreciative literary audience.
– Title 3, Regarding a Dream, Chapter 1, The First Day, Part 1, Victory & Calendar Reform, Section 3, Wondering, Paragraph 1, Clause 1
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.
When Ferrari was nine years old, his father, Manfredo, remarried. His bride gave birth to a boy, whom she named Lorenzo. "Why would you name the boy 'Lorenzo?'" protested the father. "It is so effemminato."
Francesco admired this. He saw a bit of himself in the tenacity that Ferrari naively expected others to fear. It was made all the more endearing by the fact that Ferrari was not very strong. Francesco, only a handful of years older, was already famous for bending bars with his bare hands. He had no need for a limp-wristed knight. Being somewhat enamored of the boy's beauty, Francesco made him one of his flautists.
Most of the time, the armies of the condottieri danced around each other waiting patiently (and lucratively) for their monarchs to settle things on their own. That way both sides made money. This affair, unfortunately, had dragged on for so long, people feared, this time, bloodshed would be unavoidable.
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.
FLETCHER: I lost my virginity to a married woman. Her husband was abroad - had been for several months. She did plan on joining him, but she loved sex - she admitted it - more than she loved her husband. Then again, I didn't really know the man. Maybe he was the same way. Maybe he was a scoundrel. Some women are just crazy. I was doing work on her balcony at the time. She would undress in front of me through the window. She even let me watch her masturbate. I was around eighteen years old. She was forty. I had no idea what to do. I couldn't do anything, anyway. I was surrounded by my crewmates. When we finished, we packed up and we left. I didn't see her for several weeks. In due course, we bumped into each other at one of the local pubs. She asked me how I was doing. I told her I was fine. I bought her a few drinks. She asked me to take her home. I did. On her front porch, as she was removing her keys from her pocket, she dropped something.
ALICE: A condom.
FLETCHER: How did you know?
ALICE: I guessed.
FLETCHER: Is that something you've done?
ALICE: I've never done it. I assume, if you want to get your point across, that's the most powerful way.
FLETCHER: It's true. I couldn't help myself. I had to go up to her room.
ALICE: Did you like it?
FLETCHER: I loved it - as it was happening. When we were finished, I felt as dirty as a pig. She wanted me to come every Wednesday afternoon like clockwork.
ALICE: Did you?
– ACT I, lines 642-651
LUKE: At his place.
FLETCHER: Today?
FLETCHER: After Kokomo left.
FLETCHER: What was she doing there?
LUKE: The two of them were yabberin'. That's why we didn't get to drink much.
FLETCHER: What were they saying?
LUKE: I don't know.
FLETCHER: What did it look like?
LUKE: It looked like something shonky was goin' down. At first, Kokomo was ropeable. I thought old Grey Goose was gonna cark it. After she calmed down, she looked perfectly dismal, like she had been sprung in the act. Your old man leaned in to whisper. She kept turnin' her head to either side. She got cranky and left. That's when I asked him - by way of a mug: "What's with the girl piker?" - why didn't she stay for a drink? That's when he told me.
– ACT I, lines 757-765
GREY GOOSE: Or what?
FLETCHER: You're going to have trouble.
GREY GOOSE: What kind of trouble?
FLETCHER: Do us all a favor and stop being a prick.
GREY GOOSE: Dare you call your own father a prick?
FLETCHER: I'll call you that for as long as you deserve it.
GREY GOOSE: You've got a lot of nerve.
FLETCHER: Like father, like son.
GREY GOOSE: What are you going to do? Call for mommy?
FLETCHER: If you don't stay away from here, it won't be this house that burns down.
– ACT I, lines 1247-1256
MS. JACKSON: What in the name of Christ is going on?
KOKOMO: You didn't tell me we were doing it.
GREY GOOSE: He didn't tell me either.
FLETCHER: I thought you knew. I thought you started the whole thing.
GREY GOOSE: I made a mistake.
FLETCHER: I wasn't even informed about the dishwashing machine.
MS. JACKSON: Somebody please tell me what's going on!
GREY GOOSE: Alright.
FLETCHER: Calm down, Mother.
KOKOMO: Please, Ms. Jackson.
– ACT II, lines 421-430
FLETCHER: Nobody's taking sides. Calm down.
MS. JACKSON: I am calm. I simply have to make this intruder leave.
A story book full of short fiction stories. An interesting bedtime mystery. A fairy tale. Science fiction romance. Adult life. Uninspiring gay fiction. Horror.
A retired mathematician lived on Profile directly across from the hill. He specialized in probability theory. One day while sipping a cup of tea in his kitchen he realized that two mail trucks coming down the hill on two separate roads that met at the bottom and had to stop to service boxes at the exact same spot could potentially be rolling down the hill at the same time and if one carrier wasn't careful enough could be observed engaging in a significant but nevertheless comical collision. The professor happened to be, as Mark knew from his mail, an amateur photographer. He set about recording the times at which he observed the carriers proceeding up the hill and the times at which he observed them coming down. He noticed that if both regular carriers were on duty a collision would never occur. Both of them were too slow. But if one particularly fast substitute carrier, namely Mark, was coupled with the other regular carrier, namely Bill, he could calculate the probability of a collision based on the times at which he saw them climbing up the hill. This excited the professor immensely.
Mark and Bill meanwhile were flipping through their respective letters. Mark looked up and caught sight of the old man bending over again and looking through his viewfinder. Mark sped up. He was going to get a glimpse of the eagle before it flew off. He floored the gas. Oblivious to the dangers beyond, he was rushing past the hedgerow. He craned his neck and saw a giant blue and white eagle on the side of Bill's truck. The professor hit the shutter button. Mark frantically swerved. The camera's continuous drive clicked and clicked. Mark hit the brakes. The truck slid heading straight for the professor. Its wheels locked. It surfed on the unswept gravel of the westbound lane of Profile Road and thankfully stopped before crossing the center line. Just as a UPS truck headed east. The driver saw the mass of white coming from his left and instinctively swerved away. Right into the professor. The old man was launched into the sky. Mark watched in horror as the body sailed a good 60 feet before flailing onto the ground. Mark looked at the UPS truck. The driver was paralyzed. Mark looked back at the body. He drove the 60 feet between them. There was no time to run. Reaching the remains of the professor, Mark curbed the wheels. He put the gear in park. He pulled the hand brake. He shut the engine and took out the keys. He didn't want anybody accusing him of not following proper dismounting procedures. He hopped down to the body and saw there was little to be done. He called for an ambulance.
The giant hill of stupidity was located five miles south of downtown East Farmville. Making it 5.1 miles from the new East Farmville post office. It was created under the local dictatorship of postmaster Steve the Second. Nobody blamed him personally for it. At least not in front of his face. Not that everybody lost on the deal. Just the rural carriers as usual.
I discovered a beautiful pavilion. Completely abandoned. Pristine toilet followed pristine toilet. I commenced spewing all over. Grunting and panting through the intervals. I shat half my body weight before I heard somebody come inside. This person was going from toilet to toilet. Opening every door. I was afraid my gut wasn't the only thing about to be liquidated. My unseen nemesis banged on my stall. I calmly ignored it. I dispensed half a roll of paper. I cleaned everything up. I don't remember if I flushed. When I opened the door the largest woman I have ever seen snarled at me and started shouting. I have no idea what she was saying. It sounded like a lot. She followed me out of the pavilion and halfway back to the stadium. I was sure if I didn't lose myself in the crowd she would find me and have me killed. That was the end of my trip.
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.
Your support keeps the "July Calendar" page...
If you love women and art...
Michal's importing art from Poland...is he brainsick?
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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