Powerful people generally don't mind having their picture taken. They're also keenly aware of how they look in the resulting media imagery, of course, and so a session with a photographer can be a contest to see who is in control of the meeting.

You'll recognize a lot of famous faces in "Richard Avedon: Portraits of Power" at the Corcoran Gallery of Art. These are mostly single portraits in which the celebrated subjects are seen up close. There generally aren't any studio props, which makes for an intense eye-to-eye encounter between you and the subject. Much of the interest in such photographic portraiture is that you note the personality traits you expect to see and then wonder if the shot psychologically reveals more than the subject intended.

Avedon, who died in 2004, was a master of such portraiture. He photographed as securely in the contemporary corridors of political power as he did on the fashion runways in the '50s. He obviously knew how to put celebrities at ease, and the resulting photos do tend to offer the insights you're hoping for.

However, there is a basic conceptual problem with this exhibit. It defines the word "power" so broadly that the expected shots of politicians are supplemented by shots of artists, entertainers and even some ordinary citizens in our eclectic democracy. This curatorial inclusiveness doesn't spoil the show, but it does tend to soften the focus a bit.

Avedon has been the subject of so many popular exhibits that you get the feeling this latest one uses the "Portraits of Power" title to bring together photos showcased in previous exhibits. This is a nagging concern, but fortunately it's outweighed by the abundance of people-watching opportunities.

One of the most revealing shots in the show depicts former Alabama Gov. George Wallace and his black valet Jimmy Dallas posing together in 1993. Elderly, ill and with his tie loosely knotted, Wallace seems frail. You can sense the thoughts of mortality playing across his face, and yet there also is defiant pride in his tightly clenched mouth and wide-open eyes. Standing behind Wallace and looking over his shoulder is the valet, whose face is partly cropped out of the photo.

Considering the fascinating personal journey that took Wallace from overt racism early in his political career to an apparent humanitarian change of heart late in life, this photo serves as a vivid reminder of the historically tangled relations between whites and blacks in the South. Jimmy Dallas' job description as a valet qualifies him as a servant of sorts, but perhaps, their relationship is more complicated than that. Indeed, the incapacitated Wallace clearly depends on him in ways that perhaps emotionally move into the realm of friendship.

For a sense of Wallace earlier in his career, look at a 1963 single portrait in which his younger unlined face supports what could be interpreted as an arrogant smile. His tie is carefully knotted, and he seems ready to do battle. Another solo portrait of Wallace from 1976 is cropped so that you can see part of the wheelchair to which he was confined following an assassination attempt in 1972; he seems peacefully reconciled to his condition.

There are enough other politicians in the exhibit to fill the ballot. One of the most quietly absorbing photos depicts former President Dwight D. Eisenhower in 1964. His no-nonsense expression speaks to a man who knew how to command in war and peace. He had been retired for a few years at the time the picture was taken, and one also senses a reflective quality.

Among the other politicians collectively making this a nonpartisan exhibit are Ronald Reagan, Henry Kissinger, Jimmy Carter, George McGovern, Hubert Humphrey, John F. Kennedy and Gerald Ford. There's even Barack Obama, photographed in 2004.

The show occasionally balances famous politicians with ordinary people who face the consequences of decisions made by political leaders. A South Vietnamese napalm victim photographed in 1971 has a disfigured face symbolizing the cost of war.

Among those prominent in the arts, a 1958 shot of writer Dorothy Parker makes her seem exhausted from all those witty nights out in New York clubs; a 1962 shot of writer Norman Mailer makes him seem eager to take on all challengers; and a 1955 shot of pioneering black opera singer Marian Anderson has her mouth open in song, eyes closed in concentration, and long dark hair musically flowing in its own way.

"Richard Avedon: Portraits of Power" runs through Jan. 25 at the Corcoran Gallery of Art, at 500 17th St., Washington. Tickets are $14, $12 for senior citizens and military, $10 for students. Call 202-639-1700 or go to www.corcoran.org or www.ticketmaster.com.

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