I used to dismiss cuteness as kid stuff. But I found such a sophisticated aesthetic of cuteness here in Japan that I was forced to reconsider.

"amid the bustle of the swinging everyday/the prince remembers a dream/from his adolescence/a faint dream/the radio tells me it'll/be clear and sunny again today/it's another morning where/just before dawn/the tuning's off" color print by Koji Sekimoto

Take, for example, the plush toy: Few Westerners over the age of 10 would be seen in public with a stuffed Hello Kitty doll, but here I've seen the soft little cuties lovingly arranged on the dashboards of gangstered-up Mercedes-Benz.

In Japan, it seems, cuteness can mean power.

Consider how Western financial institutions use symbols such as talon-baring eagles or towering Doric columns to suggest strength, and compare this to the logo of the mighty Asahi Bank: a bunny rabbit, in a pink smock, walking along with five baby ducks.

And so it should come as no surprise that cuteness also reigns on the Japanese contemporary art scene.

The two most important museum solo exhibitions this year, Takashi Murakami at the Museum of Contemporary Art, Tokyo, and Yoshitomo Nara at the Yokohama Museum of Art, were so dripping with cartoonish cuteness that they looked like they had been made, in the words of a local curator who would strangle me if I attributed this quote, "for the totally clueless adolescent."

Which brings me to the show at hand, Koji Sekimoto at Ota Fine Arts in Shibuya. This is an exhibition that, if it were presented anywhere else on earth, would most likely be dismissed as overly cute, as kid stuff.

The last time I checked in with Sekimoto was about a year ago, when the 31-year-old artist brought his "Hush Hush Days" exhibition to the Ota.

That show told little stories, using original, diarylike texts and photographs of elaborately posed Barbie doll knockoffs, which Sekimoto had picked up from secondhand shops and flea markets.

By elaborately posed, I mean that Sekimoto had constructed small sets, such as the inside of an airplane cabin, and then dressed up his dolls as characters in the mostly sentimental dramas he proceeded to create around them.

I wrote at the time that the installation was merely "charming," but promised to check in next time his work was on show to see if the artist, who is based in Cologne, might find a way to marry the conceptualism of his adopted home with the cuteness of his native land.

He has, to a certain degree, succeeded in doing this with the new show, "Charm Melody."

Near the center of the gallery sits a low, two-seat wooden bench, painted white and flanked by a couple of white speakers. Viewers are invited to sit there and watch a slide show on the wall, which consists of about 20 minutes of images of dolls and city scenes, accompanied by what Sekimoto describes as an "inner monologue" soundtrack.

There are two voices in the soundtrack, Sekimoto's and a female assistant's. Their conversation is slow, dreamy and personal, and explores Sekimoto's thoughts on art and life over the last five years.

It is, of course, in Japanese, as are the texts that appear on the screen, although the always-helpful Ota staff will assist those who can't understand by providing a printed translation of some of the poetic dialogue.

Also in the show is a collage of some 20 snapshot-aesthetic photographs, a mix of nondescript interior shots, moody landscapes and street scenes; a pretty little organza blouse made by the artist; and two large, well-crafted photographs of dolls in different poses.

Elsewhere in the gallery are a number of other delicate touches -- a flower on the floor, a lonely photograph tacked to the wall, and so on.

The presentation is the logical evolution of Sekimoto's previous efforts. The pieces use classical compositions, challenging us to see contemporary figures, emotions and relationships, not through brush strokes, but Barbie dolls.

While viewers will want to find the message under the veneer of cuteness, it is hard to avoid the question of why a grown man would choose little dolls as a vehicle for introspection?

Which brings us back to the Japanese cuteness aesthetic. Like Murakami's anime-style character, Mr. DOB, which is meant to lampoon the naivete in Japanese society, Sekimoto's wispy "Charm Melody," seems something of a parody of itself.