An installation view of “Mask,” an exhibition of masks, hoods, sculpture, video and photographs.

The mask is one of the most basic and recognizable of all forms, writes Roberta Smith, and for good reason. One way early humans made sense of the universe was to personify its forces, and the most visible form of personification was the face. Masks have long been central to religious rituals; they have figured in ceremonies intended to ensure fertility and raise the dead, make crops grow and rain fall, kill enemies, ward off evil and cure sickness. They have been used by soldiers and celebrators of Lent, astronauts and action heroes, hockey players and fencers, firefighters and welders. (Photo: Jason Mandella/James Cohan Gallery)

A still from Yinka Shonibare’s “Un Ballo in Maschera (A Masked Ball)” (2004)

Such ubiquity is the impetus behind “Mask,” a sprawling show at the James Cohan Gallery in Chelsea with more than 40 masks and hoods, and more than 30 works in sculpture, video and photography. The masks, from sub-Saharan Africa, Latin America, premodern Europe, turn-of-the-century America and several parts of Asia, do most of the showstopping here. All were provided by Joseph G. Gerena, a private dealer who seems to have an excellent eye.
The opening salvo, a riveting video by Yinka Shonibare may be one of the best things he has ever done. It shows a highly stylized masked ball in which the guests wear 18th-century garments made from Mr. Shonibare’s distinctive Euro-African fabrics, which is not new for him. But in this case he has used a combination of sound and movement to strip a minuetlike dance down to a tribal, almost animalistic ritual while still leaving its mannered veneer intact. (Photo: Yinka Shonibare, James Cohan Gallery, New York and Stephen Friedman Gallery, London)

“Sherdukpen Citipati Mask” from India

In the main gallery an 18th- to 19th-century skull mask from the Tibetan Sherdukpen people of northern India seems made to order for a Mexican Day of the Dead festival, while what looks like an African monkey mask is actually from Nepal. (Photo: Courtesy of Joseph G. Gerena Fine Art, New York)

“Italian Carnival Mask”

The show emphasizes transcultural twists and turns. A 19th-century Italian carnival mask made of painted papier-mâché has much in common with a demonic mask of a Tibetan king used in ceremonial dances in 18th- or 19th-century Bhutan. (It’s made of the same material.) A pale, moonlike mask with a woebegone expression and a pale, angular, grinning visage next to it — both in carved, painted wood — might almost belong to the same comedic drama. Yet the moon mask is Korean, for satiric dances; the angular one is Swiss, a witch’s mask for winter festivals. (Photo: Courtesy of Joseph G. Gerena Fine Art, New York)

Kovave Spirit mask from Papua New Guinea

Many of the masks are feats of construction and conjuring. Consider a spirit mask from Papua New Guinea used in male initiation rites; it is made mostly of tapa cloth, reeds, grasses and seed pods, with its conical hat, wide ears and long, wolflike snout toothed with sharp nails. Or an Eskimo shaman’s mask made of wood, wire and feathers. Its stern face, with the black goatee and curled mustache of a dime-novel villain, is encircled by two rings of twig from which tiny hands and feet sprout. It seems to orbit toward us, getting bigger every second. (Photo: Courtesy of Joseph G. Gerena Fine Art, New York)

“Duchess” (1994) by Rammellzee.

When it comes to contemporary art, masks aren’t what they used to be as objects, but that doesn’t necessarily make them any less potent in effect. A remarkable object by the artist-rapper Rammellzee channels Japanese face armor and its more recent descendant Darth Vader while maintaining a streetwise, found-object funkiness all its own. (Photo: Rammellzee/James Cohan Gallery)

“Star Gazing” by Hans Haacke (2004)

The impact of masks increases when contemporary art turns to themes like identity or gender, as well as to certain current events. Hans Haacke echoes the Abu Ghraib images with a photograph of a man wearing a hood made from the starred portion of the American flag. Closer to the art world, Miriam Berkley pays tribute to the subversive Guerrilla Girls collective with a portrait of one of its founding members, known as Frida Kahlo, wearing the group’s signature gorilla mask. And Jürgen Klauke makes a large mural of news photos dating from 1972 to 2000, showing images of hooded heads, a kind of rogues’ gallery that evokes a nightmarish history of hijackings, kidnappings, bank robberies and terrorism. (Photo: Courtesy of Hans Haacke and Paula Cooper Gallery, New York)

“Self Portrait as My Mother Jean Gregory” by Gillian Wearing (2003)

Masks can also be subtle things in the hands of contemporary artists, little more than a hint of something not quite natural. This is the case in a photograph that Gillian Wearing made of herself in a mask of her mother’s face taken from a youthful photograph. Ms. Wearing seems a bit stiff but otherwise normal — until you see the telltale holes for the eyes. (Photo: Courtesy of Heather and Tony Podesta Collection, Washington D.C.)

Outside, on the building’s facade, Reena Spaulings uses the show’s title as a verb, with an awning that masks the gallery’s name and address. This bit of irreverence does nothing to disturb the suspicion that masks are us, a fixed yet fluid cultural constant. (Photo: Reena Spaulings/James Cohan Gallery)