“Music is the space between the notes,” French composer Mr Claude Debussy once noted. Or was it Mr Miles Davis? The origins of this quote are ironically not so clear cut. In any case, the point is that every silence has something to say, the yin makes the yang and that paper beats rock, perhaps. A nothing is still a something, and maybe even more than a something to boot.

For minimalists of all fields, this line has become something of a mantra. You can hear it in the output of Messrs Philip Glass, Steve Reich and Brian Eno, yes, but also see it in the art of Mr Donald Judd, read it between the words of Mr Ernest Hemingway and feel it in the architecture of Mr John Pawson. The lack of something can add a weight that something itself simply can’t, and this is often reflected in the price tag. As Mr Pawson pointed out when we spoke to him in 2016: “Architecture with any kind of details costs money… but minimalism costs even more.”

Fittingly, then, this space in between is a concept that the watch industry has embraced of late. Dip into the luxury end of the market and you will be expected to pay a fair old whack for a small device that at its core is there to serve one simple purpose: tell the time. Sure, the ingenuity, development and man-hours that go into a Swiss-made timepiece warrant the price, but from the consumer’s point of view, it can be reassuring to have something to show for your money. That can mean complications and embellishments, over-engineered bells and whistles whereby mechanisms designed to time motorsport entrants to a fraction of a second are used in the real world to differentiate between a soft- and a hard-boiled egg. But, to return to the Debussy-Davis theorem, a nothing is sometimes more than a something.

The trend for skeletonised detailing that has swept the watch industry of late is an example of an affectation that is in itself the total lack of affectation. By stripping away a model’s dial or movements, the inner workings of this precise machine come to the fore, and the value of an item that sits on your wrist – one that can cost can as much as the car you drive – becomes apparent. What makes your watch tick is what makes it tick.

Oris’ first foray into the skeletal sector is certainly one to watch. The Swiss brand is known for for producing instruments that will perform in demanding conditions, usually under many bars of water pressure, and still come in at an eye-wateringly reasonable price. True to form, and despite what it lacks, the watchmaker’s new titanium Big Crown ProPilot X model will hold its own up to 100m below the briny surface – although, as the name implies, it is actually constructed with aviation in mind. But it also takes the less-is-more approach a step further than most, dispensing with even numerals on its dial. The bridges and edges are left daringly unchamfered or bevelled, while its innards are fully exposed – even the worm gear that operates the 10-day power reserve indicator is on show. The exhibition back case completes this lesson in working watch anatomy, turning this piece into a functioning horology instillation, as reimagined by Dr Gunther von Hagens. But perhaps the most Oris feature of the lot is the price, which has been stripped back to the bare bones.

They say you get what you pay for, and in the case of this watch, that is a whole lot of nothing. Which is to say, more than a something.