Perhaps Albert Wein was simply obsessed with life. “Albert Wein: American Modernist,” the retrospective of his work currently on display at the Boston Athenaeum, features classical figures that emphasize his fascination with the dynamic vitality of the human body and the expression of human emotion. The show, which runs through November 29, also includes his abstract paintings and sculptures that approach his love for life with softer contours, sweeping strokes, and, oftentimes, a more variegated palette.

Portrayals of masculine heroes from Greek and Roman mythology dominate the exhibit, which is the first retrospective of Wein’s work since his death in 1991. Their bodies are clearly defined. Their hands, feet, chests—any limb capable of evoking power—are elongated and disproportionate to the rest of the body. Their posture is stalwart, their eyes blankly intimidating. The emphasis is on sheer brawn. One could easily be overwhelmed by the amount of testosterone that radiates from much of Wein’s work. Even the mythological women in his sculptures trade soft, sensual curves for prominent chests, wide shoulders, and a Spartan-like presence. And yet while his man is no Adonis and his woman no Aphrodite, his fantastical depiction of their might is still beautiful, at the very least due to Wein’s attention to style and creative interpretation.

Sculptures such as “Adam (Earth Force)”—a depiction of Adam seemingly immaculately conceived from the ground, with a boulder-like torso—are larger-than-life, so aggressive that they become confrontational. This magnitude compels as much as it repels, and the bronze Wein commonly used for these works appropriately channels their power. It is fitting that Wein is best known for the Libby Dam, the largest granite relief in America. However, the overabundance of sculptures and drawings that convey Wein’s obsession with the highly stylized human body means this type of representation gets old fast.

In contrast, works such as “First Steps,” an abstract piece that only at second glance (and with an explanation) shows a woman guiding a child, are malleable and soft, comprised of one continuous shape with infinite contours. The titles of his pieces in this genre again reflect his passion for life, but with an approach distinct from his classical pieces. Yet their liveliness seems strained; at this level of abstraction, where “blob” comes to mind quicker than “art,” Wein’s work underwhelms.

It is really only when Wein is able to soften brute force and add definition to the abstract that the beauty of his genius is unmistakably evident. With “Man with Plow,” Wein simplifies, so that the man in the sculpture lacks incredible muscularity, and instead exudes a rustic, humanistic charm. With downcast eyes, the man and his plow seem almost coy.

This same coyness is paired with broad, vibrant strokes of color in “Geisha No. 2,” an abstract painting that is arguably one of Wein’s most striking works. Two shy geishas press their white faces together, enveloped in the rich folds of their gowns. The painting may still evoke the up-close and personal feel of “Adam,” but it is tastefully muted. The painting is huge, the figures of the women are huge, the colors are huge, and yet in this piece, Wein utilizes a sense of restraint that allows his brush-strokes to meld together rather than drown in each other.

In “Albert Wein: American Modernist,” the artist’s versatility, not only in the media he chose but also in the style of the images he presented, comes to the forefront. At his best, Wein manages to blend everything together to create a tempered oeuvre whose elegance and emotion is both a manifestation of joie de vivre and a love letter to life.

—Staff writer Denise Xu can be reached at dxu@fas.harvard.edu.