The exhibit brings together the work of 181 artists who represent Mexico’s 31 states and work in 21 different indigenous artistic traditions. The works are lovingly and artfully displayed in the current curatorial style and are accompanied by video explications by some of the artists and takeaway fact sheets on their techniques.

The result is a charming show that unapologetically crosses the not-so-fine line between folk art and tourist tchotchke. What Banamex has wrought is a sort of export-grade Mexican crafts fair. The quality is unmistakable and undeniable, but now work that once was produced unselfconsciously for the next village seems to be churned out with an eye on the tastes of the global village.

This is polite and decorous work; all rough edges have been carefully sanded away, domesticated for foreign consumption.

The forms and techniques have been codified and perfected by these craftspeople, but for me the execution lacks a certain soul, much as the technically proficient younger generation of bluegrass musicians can’t hold a candle to the Stanley Brothers.

Much of the work is purposely ersatz, like the canny reproductions of pre-Columbian pottery and ancient Mayan frieze work.

Then there are the pieces of faux eighteenth- and nineteenth-century pottery, all expertly rendered. Although these lookalikes could fool untrained eyes like mine, they presumably were created with no intention to defraud. In other words, they are knowingly false.

Other works, while drawing on traditional forms, seem to address a contemporary market for decorative art, and these are among the most successful. Gloria Aleman’s Michoacan pottery, with its abstract, almost oriental designs, and Alberto Bautista Gomez’s life-size but stylized jaguars are beautiful. They are the sort of thing your designer might suggest for that problem corner in your loft.

Less distinguished decorative pieces seem destined for a niche in an upscale Mexican restaurant.

Frankly utilitarian articles also fare well. The intricate saddles on display are ravishing, as are the dresses and other textiles.

More problematic are the works that draw on Mexican religious and folk traditions. Guillermina Aguilar Alcantara’s cute little ceramic “Fridas,” inspired by the paintings of Frida Kahlo, seem to have been designed as action figures for the recent hit film.

The few religious pieces recall the sadistic photorealism of eighteenth-century church art without coming anywhere near the flesh-crawling power of the originals.

The Day of the Dead figures are likewise too cute for their own good. The clay figures of Alfonso Soteno Fernandez and the papier-maché work of the Linares family are colorful and fun and altogether delightful. But that’s the problem. Maybe it was the tequila, but the figures I remember from Mexico were scary. They reeked of the fragility of human existence and the rot that awaits. You could put the Linares figures in your apartment and never lose a wink of sleep. In fact, I’d love one of those Linares dragons on my mantel.

I suspect that many visitors to the show will wish the exhibit came with a catalog and order form. These are living artists, after all, who turn this stuff out for a living. I guess the shoppers among us will just have to go to Mexico. Perhaps that’s part of the point.

“Great Masters of Mexican Folk Art” is at the National Museum of the American Indian, One Bowling Green, through March 15. Open daily, 10 a.m.–5 p.m.; Thursdays to 8 p.m. Admission free. 212-514-3888.