I don't know how to say. I paint.

You can't miss this sight, if you go from Sogo to Time Square. On the street of transit between two busiest spots in Causeway Bay. There used to be the famous Japanese department store Mitsukoshi of the '80s and '90s. Then it was torn down and gone with time.

A badly designed hoarding was erected, with mindless assembled stock photo faces looking up in anticipation of yet another shopping arcade. "Feel it", "Sense it", "Live it", it says, as empty as the space that has prolonged its presence.

The construction should have been completed by now. But the first concrete is yet to be seen. Among the hustle and bustle of shoppers, it became an existence of its own. And our existence is never in question, never mind others', as long as the shops are open. Except one morning in 2007, a 60-meter crane fell, killed two and injured five. A ripple soon faded into normality.

I pass the site twice everyday, to and off work. I don't know when it started haunting me. Was it the loveliness of the little window opened to let the tree be? The vast yellowness of the vinyl covering and how the flood light made radiance of folds on it? Or simply, I looked up and saw a kitten also looking up, among other printed faces. It was the time my cat was dying.

There's sadness, seems also hope. There's demolition, but also construction. It's night but there's light. A trace of nature surviving in the tides of culture. A person's remembrance of the dead trying to go beyond the hoarding – the veil.

Then words stopped. Language failed. To speak the unspeakable.