Liam O’Callaghan

Liam O’Callaghan’s installations use found objects, reassembled in ways that reveal beauty while also hiding nothing of the mechanics of creation. One particular sort of found object he’s favored lately was once the staple of every home, from small studio to glamorous mansion: the turntable—now a quaint timepiece, its appeal almost archaeological. For those of a certain age, there will always be something seductive about vinyl and stylus, about a diamond-tipped needle hitting a groove to release pure sound. In O’Callaghan’s Bit Symphony, 2009–11, a Heath Robinson–esque pile of turntables, amplifiers, and speakers periodically comes to life and plays the artist’s own composition, made up of the melodies, riffs, hidden beats, scratches, and static that have been lying latent in the grooves of LPs. Visually arresting and aurally mesmerizing, Bit Symphony also explores how, while the ghost in the machine may have been philosopher Gilbert Ryle’s way of debunking dualism (the mind and body are not, he thought, separate entities), ghosts of energy and previous use do lurk in our abandoned machines. Sound waves never actually disappear; they just fade and merge: Out there, in the ether, Bit Symphony plays on forever.