Friday, February 26, 2010

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Big Skills

Big Skills is a collaboration between Stephanie Hutin and Florencio Zavala, an artist and a designer, a film maker and and editor, a wife and husband, Floridians and Californians.

Our retelling is dedicated to Dutchie, a friend of Holopaw and dearest lover of bread. She rests in the flower patch and runs with the palominos.

Monday, February 8, 2010

Roger Beebe

I have to confess that I'm usually pretty slow to pick up on lyrics. (Sorry, John!) When I was asked to work on this project, I was on tour, and I was spending a lot of time driving with the new Holopaw album playing on my car stereo. On the tour, I was showing some films that used a lot of abstract loops, and somehow one night driving across the wilds of Arkansas a variation on those images clicked with something in the sound of the Holopaw record. It was only way later that I realized that "The Lazy Matador" includes the lyric "just a pinprick"; all these images were made by punching holes in black leader with a push pin. Maybe I was listening to the lyrics after all.

What I made here I also think of as a kind of "make your own Holopaw video." The beats in the image seem to magically sync with a lot of the songs, so feel free to rub 'em together yourself & see what you think.

The end.

roger beebe

Thursday, February 4, 2010

Erin Tobey (3 of 3)

Holopaw loves Erin Tobey. She graced our songs with her dulcet vocals. We are grateful for that.

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Erin Tobey (1 of 3)

NO GLORY triptych. Plumes of black pour into the gloaming from the
wheezing mouth of the cave. All holes, no glory. Sparrows gather
rubies from the mine. Produced in freezing Bloomington, Indiana after
midnight with creative energy from my friends in Holopaw.

Monday, February 1, 2010

George Ferrandi

oh glory, i keep sleeping with you shimmering on the other side of the curtain.

oh wilderness, i keep waking up with echoes of you in my head. this morning it was "so many pearls..."

oh holopaw, i remember you playing on the painted white porch, spanish moss swinging low from all the nearby trees. i could catch wispybits of you if i peddled past, or i could creak open the screen door to be surrounded by the full sweet fog of you....