“Portraits of an Age: Photography in Germany and Austria, 1900-38” is the first exhibition at the Neue Galerie devoted exclusively to photographs. The exhibition, organized by Monika Faber, curator of photography at the Albertina, Vienna, presents mostly vintage prints by more than 35 photographers taken over a period of almost four decades. The photographers include such well-known names as August Sander and Lotte Jacobi, and lesser-known names such as Dora Kallmus and T. Lux Feininger, as well as many that were unknown to me, and are, I suspect, primarily of local interest. But the jumble presents a striking array of faces.

With so many photographers working in so many styles over such an extended period of time, it is hard to make generalizations, but there are some unifying characteristics. The overwhelming majority of the subjects are either artists of one sort or another or people close to the arts, such as collectors and critics. So this is hardly a random sample of Germans and Austrians in the first half of the 20th century. Possibly because of their identification with art, there seems to be a high degree of self-dramatization in the portraits. This is enhanced by a tendency toward stylization that subsumes the particulars of the face in an effect of lighting or an unusual angle. This, in turn, makes for “artsy” pictures. Many of the portraits were commissioned by the subjects or are of friends of the photographers, so the inclination is to show them looking good.

Among the pictures of artists is a generous selection of self-portraits. There is Lotte Jacobi’s “Self-Portrait with Camera” (1929), which in a way is a double self-portrait, since her large format view camera takes up a substantial part of the image. Jacobi looks harried, her hair unkempt as she strains to look forward, while the Cyclopian lens seems the calm center of a storm. It is an unusual expression, more than merely Romantic, for an artist to wear to present herself, and it is not clear if the view camera to which she is linked by the shutter-release cable is the cause of her consternation, or a totem to which she is appealing for relief.

Ilse Bing was another of a remarkable generation of German Jewish women photographers, and her self-portrait hangs not far from Jacobi’s. Unlike Jacobi, who was always a studio photographer, Bing was an early master of the small-format Leica. And against Jacobi’s operatic turmoil, Bing presents herself with poised calm. Her “Self-Portrait” (1931) shows an appealing oval face lit by even, nondramatic lighting, short, dark hair parted in the middle, conventionally applied lipstick, a plain, white blouse, and a single strand of large, white beads. It might be bland except for her eyes: They are not staring, but are focused very intently ahead, looking, looking.

In the same room are two pictures by Umbo (Otto Maximilian Umbehr). The first, “Self-portrait on Beach” (c. 1927), shows Umbehr lying on a blanket, his torso bare, wearing very big, perfectly round dark sunglasses. He apparently took the picture by holding the camera at arm’s length so that its shadow falls over his eyes. This is a playful example of the experimentation undertaken more seriously by other photographers in the exhibition. The second picture, “Self-portrait” (1926), is a close-cropped headshot undistinguished expect that his face is lit from below, which makes it dramatic to no particular purpose.

And there is “In the Bosom of Nature, Self-Portrait” (1922) by Rudolf Koppitz. The photographer has posed his athletic, muscular, naked body out of doors in a sort of fetal crouch between the bases of two trees. His head is tucked into his arm so we can see his blond hair but not his face, and faintly in the background is a distant range of mountains. This is kitsch. If one of the purposes of “Portraits of an Age” is to show the scope of quality as well as of styles in the period, I nominate “In the Bosom of Nature” as one of the poles.

There are many fine pictures by August Sander here, including his own “Self-Portrait” (c. 1930), which like so much of his work surprises us with its apparent effortlessness, but there is also “The Right Eye of My Daughter Sigrid” (1928), an extreme close-up of just that. This is well out of the conventions of his “Citizens of the 20th Century” project and is oddly affectionate. It is hard to say why, except that it is endearing that every individual feature of his child’s face should hold such interest for him. Another unusual Sander image is his print of “Heinrich Hoerle, Cologne” (1924), which is much larger than most of his work, almost 23 inches by 18.5. This makes the head of the artist larger than life size, quite striking but in a way that is at odds with the humanistic thrust of the main body of Sander’s work.

A small section in the show displays pictures the Nazis used as propaganda, portraits they thought exemplified Aryan racial types.(Sander’s work was proscribed because of its inclusiveness and its particularizing.) The Nazis were very keen on photography; it was useful, modern, and scientific. I wondered:

If the pictures in this section had been interspersed throughout the exhibition, would it be possible to cull them out? Some yes, some no.

To close on a positive note, other memorable works include Hugo Erfurth’s “Max Beckmann” (1928), the artist’s squarish, solid head sunk into his shoulders, bags under his eyes, determined; Lotte Jacobi’s “Kathe Kollwitz” (c. 1920), the ethereal white hair surrounding a face that became more beautiful as the artist aged; Joseph Breitenbach’s workmanlike “Vasily Kandinsky, Paris” (1938); and, as a novelty, the portrait by Yva (Else Neulander-Simon) of “Asta Nielsen” (c. 1930), shot from behind so that all we see of the film actress is the back of her head, straight black hair cut in a severe bob, handsome jawline, and broad Scandinavian shoulders. But the picture gives a strong sense of its subject’s presence, the most important aspect, anywhere, anytime, of a portrait.

Until June 6 (1048 Fifth Avenue, between 85th and 86th Streets, 212-628-6200).