O’Hare notices these components and reframes them not as an artist might, with pomp and ceremony, but with the acute eye of the photographer. It’s tempting to call these spaces liminal, with the meaning it has acquired among psychogeographers: desolate retail parks at the edges of towns, Ballardian flyovers, derelict factories, faceless warehouses, godforsaken shopping malls. Yet the meaning of liminal is a gateway. Where is this a gateway to? The countryside seems a distant rumor. Perhaps limbo then, but it’s already purgatorial here. The cityscape seems to belong to the “junkspace” of Koolhaas or the “non-place” of Augé, spaces that could belong anywhere and thus feel like nowhere. Places that have been exempted from, or exorcised of, meaning, attachment, heritage, belonging. Yet those terms do not suffice either and O’Hare’s photographs, even when they glide across the surfaces, probe deeper than that.