cover photo: Julie Wetzel

Tucked along a narrow road outside Craughwell, a small village in Ireland’s County Galway, Brian Callan’s workshop is easy to miss. A weathered wooden sign shaped like an Irish harp, with Callan’s name carved in knotwork script, has nearly been reclaimed by time and the elements. But pull into the driveway and it’s clear: This is a place where myth and material meet.

Small workshops scattered across the property mark each phase of a harp’s creation. In the milling shed, wooden boards lean in stacked rows, like a sylvan library inscribed with the fine script of growth rings. Wearing a full beard, with his long hair pulled back under a bandana, Callan looks like he’d feel equally at home in the woods as in the workshop. As Callan walks through the maze of wood, he runs his hand along the raw edge of one of his chosen boards. “The trees I use,” he says, “they all have a secret story.”

My soul would rot if I knew I was cutting down a tree in the prime of its life.”

Callan rarely fells a tree. Unless disease or danger demands it, he simply waits for the unforgiving Irish wind—or the storms that barrel in from the Atlantic—to bring them down. Though Ireland is known for its rolling green pastures, its land was once 80 percent forest, its people integrally connected with the woodland. Now, less than 1 percent of the country’s native trees remain. That absence weighs on Callan. “My soul would rot if I knew I was cutting down a tree in the prime of its life.”

In Callan’s main workshop, half-finished harps stand among the sawdust and scrap wood, their graceful necks looking somewhat like curious swans. For his finer harps, he uses the stave method, which involves laminating 10 different pieces of timber to create a curved cone for the instrument’s body. This allows him to mix the acoustic qualities of the various woods—the bright clarity of sycamore, for example, and the mellow warmth of walnut—to achieve the precise resonance he seeks.

The time it takes to build a harp varies greatly depending on its complexity, and the prices reflect that range. A smaller, 26-string beginner harp takes Callan about 35 hours to make and starts at €770 (about $828 USD). A larger, 34-string professional harp can take up to 95 hours, with prices beginning at €5,350 ($5,746 USD) for a staved-box, fully levered model. Callan also accepts commissions for highly personalized instruments, including custom-colored finishes, which work well on pale sycamore wood. He builds between 50 and 60 harps each year. While most of his customers are based in Ireland, he has sold harps to buyers around the world, including in the United States, Germany, and the Netherlands.

When Callan began, only a few aging harp makers were still producing them in Ireland. But in recent years, a new generation has emerged…

Callan made his first harp more than 14 years ago, as a gift for his then-partner, a music teacher who wanted a small harp for her students. The Irish harp is at least 1,000 years old, but for all its national symbolism—the harp graces Ireland’s coins, documents, passports, and the country’s most famous beer: Guinness—the instrument’s construction had nearly disappeared from its native soil. Unable to find a harp built in Ireland, Callan used his experience as a carpenter and woodworking teacher to craft one himself. That first harp led to another, and then another. “It kind of just took off from there,” he says.

When Callan began, only a few aging harp makers were still producing them in Ireland. But in recent years, a new generation has emerged: “When I started, there were only a couple of guys who had been at it for thirty or forty years. But now there are about twelve, I’d say, with about eight of them working full-time.” He credits this revival to a broader movement to reclaim Irish heritage and tradition, and to the inclusion of Irish harping in the 2019 UNESCO Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity.

In his living room, which doubles as a showroom, Callan’s completed harps gleam in the late afternoon light. Each harp carries the imprint of the tree from which it was made, but one stands apart—it is nearly black, and heavy with history: Callan built it from a piece of 6,000-year-old oak that was preserved in the anaerobic conditions of an Irish bog. (He had the wood carbon-dated, and the report places the tree’s growth between 4233 and 4045 BC.)

“You can’t help but wonder what the climate was like back then, the people,” he says, running his hand over the harp’s carved frame. “What stories are sleeping inside that wood?”

This remarkable harp, embellished with Connemara marble and carved salmon, set with tiny diamonds for eyes, is more than an instrument—it’s a bridge between the present and an ancient world.

“It’s an honor,” Callan says, “to build something that allows that story to come out in song.”

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Watch Séamus Ó Flatharta demonstrate a Callan 34-string Irish harp, made from native elm with a cedar soundboard (video courtesy of Brian Callan).