NEW YORK -- When more than 100 works of Haitian art were displayed at the Brooklyn Museum in 1978, critics hailed the exhibition as a triumph for artists from the tiny Caribbean nation, many of whom had been toiling for decades in near obscurity. The two-month show thrust those featured onto the international art scene, catapulted awareness of the genre to a broader American audience and prompted Sotheby's and Christie's to begin auctioning Haitian art.

Yet some artists and collectors found fault with the exhibition's focus on untrained artists and their traditional depictions of voodoo or simple village and market scenes, rendered in vivid colors. They argued that by omitting more experimental pieces, the show fostered a stereotype of Haitian art as primitive and naieve. And they said it spurred poor imitators to churn out mediocre works, hoping to cash in on the demand for a style that had suddenly become chic.

Twenty years later, Haitian artists are still struggling against these stereotypes and expectations. But the genre has also undergone broad changes.

Artists have found ways to press beyond the familiar colors and themes, and they continue to express the traditions rooted in Haiti's complex cultural and religious history, a blend of African, Caribbean and French elements. At the same time, Haitian art has become increasingly political, often taking current events as its subject and reflecting the tensions of immigrant life in the United States.

Nowhere are the shifts in Haitian art, and its variety, more apparent than in the New York metropolitan area. There are half a million Haitian residents here, the largest concentration outside Haiti.

Many Haitian artists in New York work far from the mainstream art scene, in living rooms, basements and lofts, taking jobs as teachers, cabdrivers and construction workers to make ends meet. Increasingly they are finding professional outlets, though they say it is still hard for unconventional work to be accepted.

At least 11 galleries and dealers in the New York area exhibit Haitian art. Galleries showing Haitian artists have also appeared from California to Florida. And Haitian-born artists are more frequently part of shows like last winter's National Black Art Show at the Puck Building in Soho.

"The popular definition of Haitian art is somewhat too narrow," said Carol Damian, a professor of art history at Florida International University in Miami, who was the curator of an exhibition of contemporary Haitian artists there two years ago. "The Haitian art world has been undergoing a fertile change."

Andre Juste, 41, and his wife, Vladimir Sybil, 30, are among those who consider themselves part of this change, and they have a loft studio in Brooklyn at the foot of the Brooklyn Bridge. He points to his sculpture "Pedro's Fire" as an example of how Haitian-American art has taken new directions.

The work, a homage to Juste's late uncle, Pedro, is a giant bonfirelike structure of wooden planks, with purple and red glitter sprinkled about the base, where empty bottles of Haiti's famous Rum Barbancourt are lined up. In its use of found objects, the piece does not fit the traditional mold of Haitian art.

But the glitter is reminiscent of the flags and sequins associated with voodoo, a religion that combines the Roman Catholicism taken to Haiti by French settlers with the animist beliefs that African slaves brought to the New World. And so the Haitian connection is clear.

Juste, whose work has earned critical praise in The Miami Herald, said Haitian art and artists have often been pigeonholed. "The term Haitian art to a considerable extent is basically a wonderful marketing label," he said. "Once you can label it, it's easy to sell."

But some experts say that despite the growth in the market for Haitian art, Haitian artists have limited opportunities to showcase their talent beyond group shows or well-known galleries.

"They have no visibility and no institution to push what they're doing," said Randall Morris, co-owner of the Cavin-Morris Gallery in Soho, a longtime dealer in Haitian-American art. "Their problem is that the art world here is not receptive, and there's no center back in Haiti. They are cut loose and they're starting from less than zero."

Carlo Thertus has set out to change that. A decade ago, Thertus gave up a lucrative home construction business and began to paint. Self-taught, he started out in the familiar Haitian style. But soon he began to use the bright and intense colors associated with the tradition in abstract paintings. Much of his work is laden with political messages on current events like the World Trade Center bombing and the incident involving Abner Louima, a Haitian immigrant whom police officers in Brooklyn's 70th Precinct are accused of beating and torturing last August.

Finding mainstream galleries inhospitable, Thertus took $1,400 from the sale of a canvas, rented a vacant, drab storefront on the North Shore of Long Island, and turned it into the sleek, rectangular The-R-Tus Gallery in Oceanside. There he provides free art classes to local children and exhibits his own work and pieces by other artists with a political message.

One of Thertus' recent pieces, "Abner Louima," is a grim black-and-white canvas depicting Louima; spots of red paint are splattered at the bottom.

Another of his works, "Oklahoma City," portrays the federal building in Oklahoma City after it was bombed in April 1995, smoke and flames billowing from its windows. A few people with terror-filled eyes but their other features indistinct are scattered about the canvas.

Another work, "Intersection 2000," depicts a large white line that forks into two lines, with a globe painted at the intersection. A peace sign stands at one end of the fork. Red flames, which symbolize war, the artist said, are splashed in all four corners of the canvas.

Thertus said the painting reflected the possibilities for mankind in the new century: total destruction or everlasting peace.

Another piece, "Times Square," is a dark, dense acrylic representation of the Manhattan skyline with a red human figure standing on a clock tower, a recurring symbol in his paintings. That piece was featured in an exhibition of work by 34 immigrant artists last year at the Tweed Gallery, which is run by the city in City Hall Park.

"When I tell people that I'm Haitian, they expect to see landscapes and village scenes," said Thertus, who started a framing shop in the basement of his gallery to help pay the rent. "When they see my work, they are surprised at the subject matter. I don't believe we should stay in the primitive style. We are humans. We should evolve."

Thertus said his work reflected his belief "that if anything goes wrong anywhere, it also affects Haiti."

The work of Rejin Leys is also inspired by politics. In collages of subtle colors, she combines images with biting texts on life in the United States. Some of her work concerns feminist issues.

One recurring theme is the plight of Haitian refugees, particularly those who were interned at the U.S. naval base at Guantanamo Bay in Cuba in 1991 after fleeing the disruptions that accompanied the overthrow of Haiti's president, Jean-Bertrand Aristide.

The refugee issue was a political awakening for Ms. Leys, 31, who grew up in the apolitical milieu of an old Haitian family that immigrated to New York in the early 1960s. Her first act of political defiance was to change the spelling of her first name, Regine, from the French to Haitian Creole, a decision that still irks her mother.

"She said that 'I gave you that name and I'm going to spell it the way it was meant,"' said Ms. Leys, who received a degree in art illustration at the Parsons School of Design.

Ms. Leys was born in Crown Heights, Brooklyn, and lives in a small apartment in Fort Greene that doubles as her studio. She works with community groups, helping resettle Haitian refugees in New York. She is also fighting for acceptance as an artist and is slowly becoming known.

In 1995 Holland Cotter, an art critic of The New York Times, reviewed her work in a group show, saying it "has a fine subtle touch that suggests plenty of room for growth."

Henri Claude Obin is a member of one of Haiti's most prominent family of artists. His father, Philome, is considered the creator of the Cap-Haietien school, or style, which depicts everyday life, and the younger Obin continues to focus on this tradition. Recently he paced about his living room in Midwood, Brooklyn, surrounded by paintings stacked along the wall.

He sat in front of a work in progress, "Meeting of the Generals," sitting on an easel. He grabbed a fine brush and gently stroked the faces of the generals Henri Christophe, Jean-Jacques Dessalines and Alexandre Petion, who are Haiti's founding fathers. The plume hats and 19th-century army garb were accentuated, and with each stroke, the canvas, painted in soothing pastel colors, seemed to come more alive.

In other works Obin has depicted street scenes of Cap-Haietien, Haiti's second largest city, known for its abundance of French colonial architecture or so-called gingerbread-style homes. Like his father, Obin paints the titles of his paintings directly into his pictures.

Obin, 51, makes a yearly pilgrimage to his homeland, where he rides the tap taps, or local buses, walks through the crowded markets and talks to people. During those trips, he said, he finds the inspiration necessary to block out his current surroundings.

"I'm not going to put New York in my work," he said, when asked why he continues to paint bucolic scenes while living so far from Haiti. "I'm all about Cap-Haietien. I have to give respect to where I come from."

Despite his father's prominence, Obin's work is largely unknown here, though not in Haiti. He arrived in Brooklyn six years ago, fleeing political turmoil in Haiti.

But the same people who would leave the United States and trek to Cap- Haietien in search of his work don't seem to be able to find him in Midwood. To support his family, Obin sometimes works as a nurse's aide at hospitals.

"It's a tough situation," Obin said. "But I have to make a living.