/ɘ ‘lip sɘs/ (n.) Via Latin from Greek ‘elleipsis’, meaning “omission” or “leave out.”
The city weaves its conversations, we spin our threads. Loom set, the warp held taut as the woof loops over, under, and through. We are millions of knots and holes.
Fabric can’t be fabric without holes. Knots make tiny fists holding everything together while opening up spaces one between the other. In storytelling, Hemingway spoke of the power of omission; when done well, certain things are left out of a story in order to strengthen it. How many knots are we, and how many spaces? Where does our strength reside, in our knots or in our void?
The city’s fabric is as thick as the steel ropes that suspend its bridges. Steel woven, the warp and woof of interstates and histories individual, slipping arms into each others’ cabled sleeves. Conversations with a city reveal the tension between bodies and beams.
The beauty of ellipses is that not only are they the keepers of that which has been left out, but they represent forward trailing tangibles. A void of conversations that haven’t happened yet.
