Michal markets his movies under the trademark of a feminist cafe... Why?
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A strong woman makes me feel strong. A strong woman takes the time and the effort to consider my needs as if they were her own. She listens to me. It's time I started listening to her. I'm proud to listen - even if I fail to meet someone else's needs I can be proud that I took the time to judge them important.
By teaching myself to listen to women, I'd like to give everyone a chance to become a better listener.
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 2: Emigration
Janina describes her grandfather's large family and the fashion for emigration from what was then Austria to the New World that began around the turn of the century and which continued for decades up until the time she was born in what had by then become part of southern Poland.
Author's Note: I have been enjoined from sharing the details of my true romance adventure until such time that the other party is prepared to present her perspective on the affair arrangement...
Four days after I arrived in Poland, the largely Catholic country was celebrating Corpus Christi, complete with solemn processions down the street. Three days later I had made a solemn vow that if given the chance to express it, I would show love to a woman I had only just met.
Though I felt fully formed as a writer, and had been trained in visual language, it was my first time with a professional camera in my hands. I was just learning the ins and outs and had come to Europe to find as diverse a selection of subject matter as possible, preferably something that fit my aesthetic devotion to promoting body acceptance. Enter Margo.
Being from America, all I had to do in Europe was turn on the radio to hear an American song. All I had to do was walk into a movie theater to see an American movie. To be understood all I had to do was speak English. Being from Poland, she couldn't stand listening to the radio for all the political nonsense being bandied about. She didn't like watching American movies because she claimed they all ended the same way. She didn't want to speak English with me because she not only wanted to say things correctly but she wanted to say them her way and nobody had ever succeeded in teaching her how. I desperately wanted to understand. She wanted to be understood.
Despite the cops in Vienna. Despite the rain in Veržej. Despite getting lost in Italy. Despite parting at Soest. Despite that night in Amsterdam. Despite our fight in Lisieux. Despite the storm in the Bois de la Roche. Despite that terrible morning outside Collonges. Despite the long road to Pielenhofen, we came back safe and sound and most importantly we were happy. We had started to learn how to listen. We had left the devils of the road behind and the devils ahead seemed just a little bit smaller. We had started to open up.
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: Occupy Art
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 Occupy Art
I have yet to publish a pronunciation for the words "Occupy Art."
Video of me pronouncing "Occupy Art."
Definition of Occupy Art
I have yet to publish the definition of Occupy Art.
I'm sure it won't take too long.
An index for Occupy Art
I have yet to index the section Occupy 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 #1332
i know why theres a plane. this place was an amusement park. it had a flight simulation ride. state of the art a hundred years ago.
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.
"Hail Mary: full of grace. The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou," said the women. We heard them through the wall.
Most importantly, we gained a culture of wealth. Music, art and poetry must have a cost. The higher the cost, the better the art. After all, musicians need instruments, sculptors need rock, and poets need to travel. They must be well fed, and thus the Golden Age of each and every nation has been built on gold. Poeta nascitur, et fit. Alexander was made on the slopes of Mount Pangaion. Poland's Golden Age was built on grain, traveling by raft or barge - or even (in the case of a real entrepreneur) by skiff - down the great Vistula River, which took its golden rye by twists and turns and dangerous spring waters into the great city of Danzig. The great age of mercantilism it was! Renaissance of trade and culture! In Poland, safeguarded by the great magnates and latifundia: may they come to reign again! This time, with machines!
Simply put, at the time, I had no idea what I was doing or where it would lead. I was not in control, despite exhibiting extraordinary amounts of it - which may have been what allured that strange creature to me in the first place. It was a desperate creature I faced: a creature deprived of something I couldn't understand: deprived of self: lacking self. It was lost under a cloud of something unknowable: a fog of unhappy sunshine pollution: photochemical smog. It was confusion personified. It was infancy: unripe and unwilling to ripen - needy and restive - ungrateful, unapologetic, and unlearned - demanding - fascinating - irresistible - not yet a woman, it was a woman - it wanted to be a woman - it wanted to be a mother - it was unfit for motherhood - it deserved it, avoided it, wanted it, rejected it - it was a human being - it embraced it - it was everything at once - too much and too little - it lacked a little prudence to be honest, but, as the product of a genius Creator God, it was a work of art - mysterious when penetrated. It was not a simple woman, to the say the least.
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.
To illustrate: Macy would enquire as to my family relations, and how we ended up in Austria even though we weren't exactly Austrian; so I would discuss at great length our family history and related anecdotes, et cetera, and then maybe I'd mention something about art and Macy would be very keen on learning about it, would enquire as to my interest in art and what I've studied, et cetera, and I would be more than excited to give him every detail. As time passed, subjects would vary, but our encounters together were like episodes of one long exhaustive conversation that we would necessarily pick up whenever we found ourselves alone.
So the industry makes a big deal out of its own accomplishments. That's why, if you're not a rose-grower you don't really hear about the Rose Selections. It's a niche market, which means that there's a steady audience, that certain people will always be buying roses: why should the judges be worried about what's going to be popular?" I told Macy that simplicity is a virtue, and if the Rose Selectors wish to commend a grower for developing an easy flower to grow, then it lies entirely within their prerogative. Nike agreed, pointing out that the Rose Selectors were judging roses, "not rose growers. If they were doing that, then maybe they'd give the award to someone who could successfully grow a difficult rose." Macy agreed that it was entirely natural for the judges to compliment a rose that was easy to grow. "But that's not my point. My point is: why isn't there a prize for rose growers? That kind of prize would reward merit, it would raise public awareness of these talented people and their art form, but it wouldn't serve the economy and therefore it would never be subjected to its forces." Nike stopped to consider this, but I already knew that Macy was mistaken. Not only was he being idealistic, he was being plain wrong. I asked him why he'd want to divorce prize-giving from the promotion of goods. What good would that serve? "It would serve the ideal," he replied; "it would preserve the purity of the prize itself." I turned away from him and stared in front of me. I told him he was being foolish; he was defining a prize as something periodically given by an institution to members of a select community. I told him to consider a prize given daily from one person to another; I told him to consider marriage. "Love," I said, "is a gift freely given, but marriage is a prize for which people apply, for which some qualify and some do not. Whoever be the judge, the prize is awarded on the basis of merit, and the banns of marriage proclaim the lucky victors. Do you think you can divorce marriage from its promotion of life? How fruitful is the marriage without children? Tell me honestly, is your ideal marriage incapable of producing children?" I did not turn to face him; instead, I got up and went for a drink.
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.
Indeed, Ferrari's persistence in pursuing the art of horseback riding was born more of innate pride than talent. Witnessing other, more skilled compatriots fall from their steeds, he laughed-not ostentatiously like Francesco, but quietly, as if it proved, not that they wore heavier armor and were therefore richer, but that they might not be as good.
Peace arrived in Naples. Condotierri moved north. Ferrari, sick of war and disillusioned with its bitter-sweet fruits, went south. He was in the mood for love. He possessed new skills in the art of music. He was young and handsome. More importantly, he was a veteran.
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: Kokomo is a confirmed Catholic. She was filled with the strength of the Holy Ghost.
ALICE: I didn't know axe-wielding was one of His gifts.
FLETCHER: I'll have to ask my catechist the next time we meet.
ALICE: Are you a catechumen?
FLETCHER: I'm an inquirer. Kokomo is my ever patient sponsor.
ALICE: Was that before she caught you?
FLETCHER: I suppose I wanted her to find it. She has a point, as far as art is concerned. Whatever one thinks of its medicinal uses, it can't cure a lack of imagination.
ALICE: The sensory awareness it provides or the perception of time one experiences under its influence can benefit pursuits like contemplation or flower arrangement.
FLETCHER: What's made you such a passionate partisan? Have you partaken of the peace pipe?
ALICE: Occasionally. It's been more often than that. I used to work for a florist. There was never any reason not to smoke. To be completely honest, I accidentally brought some with me.
A story book full of short fiction stories. An interesting bedtime mystery. A fairy tale. Science fiction romance. Adult life. Uninspiring gay fiction. Horror.
I've never raped a woman. I would never want to. Not sexually. I told my wife once I wanted to rape her. That comment needs to be taken in context. We were at an art gallery. We were looking at a picture of the Sabine women.
I don't know who decided to make first contact with the woman or who invited her down to our camp but that's where she ended up. She was staying for dinner. Her name was Mary. I thought to myself this is what happens to a hipster's child when he doesn't inherit a bed and breakfast. I wanted to ask Mary about her upbringing but she was too busy sharing with us a finger-painted monist philosophy. She kept mentioning the armature of the universe. She had taken some studio art classes otherwise I doubt she would know the word. She said the armature was penetrating each of us like an alien probe. I decided to beat her at her own game. I brought up the concept of the noosphere and Teilhard de Chardin's unification of consciousness. She had no idea what I was talking about. I hoped her confusion would cow her into shutting up. It didn't.
"What about this one," said Proctor. He was pointing to vic number two. "According to his bondsman you put up his bail."
"Oh," said John. "I wouldn't know anything about that. It's probably something my husband did. He's an art dealer. He co-owns a gallery down the street."
"Do you drive a silver SUV, Mr. Gamble?" asked Proctor.
"No," said John. Looking as innocent as a fudge-covered child. "I still don't drive."
The Amazon called his team. One half was still following Orbitz on the cruise ship. The other half was in front of the shop. He ordered them into the neon building. They walked up to the second floor. The team leader paused. He could hear something in the room ahead. It sounded like a man rapping his fingers on a desk. He pushed open the door. There was no desk. There was no man. There was clutter everywhere. Strange objects of art and furniture stacked on top of each other loomed from every corner. The rapping continued. It was slower now. It was more cautious. The men squeezed into the room. All of them were transfixed by the sound. It was coming from behind a low curtain. The curtain was draped over what seemed like a crate. Or a cage. The men crowded in front of it. The leader reached out his hand. He grabbed a corner of the curtain. He lifted it.
A few months later the professor was again observing Bill and Mark going up the hill. He noted the difference in time. He calmly consulted his formula. He calculated a 95% chance of collision. There had never been such a high probability. The professor rushed out of the house. Again he almost tripped and fell on the tripod. He set himself up on the side of the road. He made sure the lighting was adequate. He programmed the continuous drive. He heard the sound of two engines coming down the hill. He couldn't stop smiling. He was on the verge of a photographic masterpiece. Better than the shot of the two cars that got stuck trying to get into the same tollbooth. This would be a series of pictures framed and hung in a massive room in a famous art gallery. "Dueling postmen" he would call it. "No," he thought to himself. "Large Postman Collider. An Experiment in Physics."
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.
Your support keeps the "Occupy Art" page...
If you love women and art...
Michal is importing art...is he meshugah?
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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