A page is made of more than what it prints. Before reading a sentence, the eye encounters margins, distances, alignments, blocks and interruptions.
These intervals establish hierarchies. Bringing two elements close together can make them appear to belong to the same argument; separating them can create a pause or prevent an easy association.
White space is therefore not an absence of work. In a book combining research, poetry, photography or essayistic prose, it can be the difference between piling materials together and allowing each form to retain its own presence.
There is also a limit. Emptiness should not operate as prestige decoration or as a way of making little content appear more important. Form must answer to the rhythm and function of the page.
Editing also means deciding what will not occupy space. Sometimes the best intervention is to leave enough distance for a reader to perceive a relationship without being forced to understand it in only one way.