It is so easy to fail in abstract art, and so difficult to succeed in calligraphy.Yet Toko Shinoda has the rare ability to fuse both forms of expression, in paintings that strike to the heart. Her work may be severe, intense and personal, but it is not inscrutable. Rather, it is poetic, and speaks of longing, mystery and the quiet blessings of existence.

Toko Shinoda shows some of her work.

Born in 1913, she has survived nearly a century of rapid change and won recognition in the tough, fickle world of international art. While some postwar artists rejected their Japanese roots, Shinoda has pushed the traditional strengths of line, space and abstraction to new limits.

She rose to prominence in New York in the 1950s, on the great wave of interest in Zen paintings and the new Abstract Expressionists. Today, her work is in the collections of the British Museum, the Guggenheim and Japan's National Museum of Modern Art, among others. But while much abstract art of the era now looks dated, hers has an eternal quality.

This week, her latest painting, "Hiraku (Enlightenment)," is being exhibited at Ebisu Garden Hall, along with a selection of earlier works. Morgan Stanley Dean Witter, the international financial services firm, commissioned the piece to celebrate 30 years of operation in Japan.

At the opening reception, Shinoda explained that the left panel refers to layers of the past, while the right implies the future. "But a painting is not a book," she said, "and the imagination is more important than any words."

"Hymn," (2001) (sumi and silver paint on paper)

In this, as in other works such as "Hymn" and "Expanse," there is a powerful tension between deep blacks and translucent grays; between static, solid strokes and lines as raw as a scream in space.

Fred Harris, fellow artist and guest professor at Ohio University's School of Art, made an interesting comment on the physical aspect of Shinoda's latest work.

"The left side is covered in platinum leaf and the right in gold, so the paper alone cost 1 million yen. But she has enough courage to wield her brush and not worry about making a mistake."

However, he adds that although the brushwork must be spontaneous to sustain its vitality, the design itself is not. Shinoda spends much time sketching her ideas and contemplating the results before committing brush to paper.

This concentration is also felt in her restricted palette: shades of sumi ink, silver, gold and cinnabar red. "These are all the colors I need," said Shinoda.

She picked up a heavy brush, loaded with ink, and swept it across a pristine sheet of paper. Despite being in the spotlight, she was utterly self-possessed, and as she stood back to cast a critical eye on the marks, one had a glimpse of just why she is a master of "calligraphy without words."