I traced it in the sky with my eyes. A helicopter whirled through the atmosphere above Victoria Harbour, trailing an enormous tail. The banner was dark blue, disproportionate in its immensity, with the words 'Hong Kong Express' sprawling across it, in white. A distant, barely detectable, buzz emanated from the motor of the black dot. The words were hard to make out; perhaps an ad for a new airline, with discount fares?
An advert can be beautiful. Hoping to see it again, I waited all morning for the pilot to head back. I scanned the skies for that tiny dot and its expansive partner, flapping slowly, attempting to cover all of heaven. Maybe it was the sheer size of their aspiration, the impossible dimensions of their dream, that inspired me. The banner's goal was to be seen by the people. To grab it, even for a second, would have been enough.
Reclined in my chair, waiting, I suddenly thought of the opening movie from the Hong Kong International Film Festival. Peacock, the Silver Bear Winner at the Berlin International Film Festival, has an unforgettable scene with a large parachute, as big as a dream (but, in reality, just some sheets sewn together) - trailing behind a bicycle being ridden by a young girl. This tiny dot pedals with all her might while her homemade parachute fans open behind her, magnificently disproportionate.
It's one of those scenes that lingers in your memory long after the film has ended. The defiant girl sets her sights on becoming a paratrooper. When she is told that she is physically unsuitable, she sews her own parachute. The makeshift chute was part of the larger image of fanning out your feathers, like the peacock in the title, and in the film's final shot. A few months later I came across an interview with the director, Gu Changwei . Explaining the title, he said: 'Life is like a peacock ... We're all waiting for moments when it fans out its stunning plumage. Those moments alone shine enough light to last a lifetime.'
This month, our newly relocated office celebrated its reopening. For the event, we wanted to create an air of grandeur and boundlessness; a shining moment, perhaps? We had the ceiling knocked down in the exhibition room, exposing the chaos of pipes, and set up a collapsible stage that fanned out, transforming the space. We could now hold lectures, art exhibitions and even documentary screenings, making the most of our limitations.
When it finally came time for the banquet, we put our heads together. It was to be an evening of romance for our guests. We racked our brains and, out of the collaborative process, a concept emerged. The theme was borrowed from the sky itself: the exhibition room would be transformed into an open-air veranda with stars twinkling from the pipes and melon vines hanging from wooden supports. A string quintet from Taiwan would fill the artificial night with music suited to an outdoor reception. Now, all we had to do was make it real.