Tong Yang-confidence, tze's and the idea that she's had it all along, is the most remarkable feature of her small Taipei studio dwelling. Tong, who is now in her late 70s and is regarded as one of Taiwan's best calligraphers and artists, laughs and jokes over cups of green tea and local delicacies, belying her celebrity and cultural importance.

"Of course I'm good!" she exclaims at one point, remembering an invitation to teach from her old institution early in her career. "I said no, I don't want to be a teacher." Everyone needed a job at the time, but I wanted to be an artist. "I have no regrets."

Last Monday, visitors to the M+ museum in Hong Kong were met with Tong's calligraphy with a contemporary art twist, which is part of an ambitious decade-long effort to construct Asia's Tate Modern. The 33-gallery facility, which opened last week in a harbourside structure built by "starchitects" Herzog & de Meuron in cooperation with TFP Farrells and Arup, is housed in a building created by "starchitects" Herzog & de Meuron in partnership with TFP Farrells and Arup.

Tong's art is prevalent throughout Taiwan, with broad and rough inky brushstrokes spreading chaotically over and around the area. It appears in partnerships with jazz musicians ("the only music that goes with calligraphy") and fashion designers; it is the branding of theatres, bookstores, and a Chanel anniversary campaign; and it appears in collaborations with jazz musicians ("the only music that goes with calligraphy"). When you arrive in Taipei, you will get a stamp in your passport.

Tong and her family relocated to Taiwan in 1952, leaving behind a wealthy life in Shanghai. They moved in Taipei, where they were destitute and had no acquaintances, according to her. Her father assigned her and her four siblings the responsibility of mastering calligraphy, which required them to practice 100 big and 200 little characters every day during their school years. She adds, "I fell in love with it."

Tong built a career fusing the ancient traditional practice of calligraphy with modern art, illustrating deeply meaningful ancient texts, after earning a fine arts degree at National Taiwan Normal University, a postgraduate at the University of Massachusetts, and a "very easy" stint as a graphic designer in New York. She is famously timid in front of the camera and can't remember ever doing an interview in English. She dislikes having outsiders in her house – journalists, for example, she apologizes for – or posing for pictures. Lin Hwai-min, the globally recognized founding director of Cloud Gate Dance Theatre, is believed to be responsible for this short exemption. Lin encourages, compliments, and taunts his old buddy from 1970s New York as they sit around her glass and crochet-topped table.

Lin jokes that Tong is a princess when she speaks about her private studio at university and time spent with wealthy family on Madison Avenue. When she casually mentions that she was accepted into Taiwan's most prominent business school but chose art instead, he scolds her, calling her a "stupid girl." But he's not serious: when questioned about their similar climb through Taiwan's cultural elite, he waxes poetic.

"In the last few decades, she has really invaded all of our lives," he continues. "Or, to put it another way, she cultivated it." Calligraphy used to be everywhere in the ancient days, but today you see the new design everywhere. She, on the other hand, introduces calligraphy to the general public. It's absolutely incredible." He chuckles as he glances across at her.

When Tong saw the blueprints for the M+ commission, she nearly turned it down: no walls, all those galleries. Boring. What is the best way to enjoy art? "I like a challenge," she replies, leaning forward and grinning mischievously. Her original thinking was to use a current poem for the contemporary city, but she chose portions from the I Ching, a key 3,000-year-old Chinese scripture, instead.

One pillar has four independent sections, each with an own message, while another has a four-sided wraparound picture that forces visitors to round the pillar to take it in, assuring that anyone standing in that open, wall-less area will have a unique experience of her work.

Tong likes to work on smaller scales when producing for herself, although her largest sculptures have filled exhibition rooms. Her art "fits the space," she explains flatly, referring to the fact that she often works on commission. However, there is a catch. "Each art exhibition will be unique," she explains. "Art can never be duplicated."

Lin hands me his phone and shows me a video. Tong is working on a piece at the National Concert Hall, where she is holding a brush that is almost her size and sliding it over the paper sheets glued to the floor. "It's physical work that requires the use of my entire body," she explains. Tong, on the other hand, believes her primary sensation when working is "enjoyment."

Tong isn't overtly political, claiming that she "never touches it," and she avoids discussing the Hong Kong instability that has sent so many artists to Taiwan. Tong's work will be shown at the M+ gallery at a time when Hong Kong is experiencing unprecedented political repression, including severe censorship, cultural blacklists, and an exodus of artists.

National security officers invaded the Tiananmen Square museum in September, seizing historical artifacts and mementos. The History Museum stopped for renovations in October 2020, but the uncertain situation inspired independent attempts to digitize the whole display, worrying that it might be politically sanitized once it reopened.

M+ has already tasted the wrath of the sun. Pro-Beijing politicians slammed the museum earlier this year for planning to include Ai Weiwei's art in its show, claiming that displaying some of the Chinese dissident artist's works may propagate "hatred against China" and violate the national security legislation. The much-anticipated show, which opened last week, includes some allusions to the political turbulence of the previous two years, such as work depicting police riot shields.

Tong's method allows for experimentation and a respectful revolt against tradition, which she says is motivated in part by her desire to see young people lured away from the digital world and into calligraphy. She claims that her art may be interpreted as a meaningful text or just appreciated for its aesthetic value. Both are equally important: she consults experts to understand and pick her terms, but she won't use them if they don't look nice on paper.

This, according to Lin, makes her work accessible to individuals who don't speak Chinese or haven't studied the ancient books from which she gets her characters. Tong's art has largely been presented in Taiwan, however collectors from all around the globe have shown interest in it. "The significance for all of us goes beyond the characters she presents," Lin adds. "The majority of us like the unique design, musicality, and grading of the many ink hues. It may be seen as abstraction."

Tong's friends and coworkers are amused by her proclivity for being unsatisfied with her own work and discarding it. That habit, which is teasingly sitting in the neighboring corner, will feed a portion of her future work. She declares, "I'm an artist." "I enjoy my time and all I want is to be free." That is something I have lived by. I was – and continue to be – lucky. One thing is that I need a challenge."

Thanks to Helen Davidson at The Guardian whose reporting provided the original basis for this story.