In many ways, prints take the pulse of modern art. The flowering of techniques early in the 20th century gave artists a wild new freedom of expression, just as their personal opinions and emotions began to move center stage. Prints also reflected the growing democracy of art, the seismic shift that occurred as art moved from the closed world of the wealthy connoisseur and found a broad platform in public galleries. And as affordable works, they appeared in countless offices and homes.

"Crying Girl" by Roy Lichtenstein, 1963

Yet 20th-century print artists may be victims of their own success: Take Andy Warhol, forever trapped in his can of Campbell's soup. Images that were intended for a vast, international market have become commonplace through over-exposure. And prints that were intended to shock have become cozy icons of a time that is safely past.

But a new exhibition of 20th-century prints from Marui department store's collection breathes life into familiar work, and if we leave our blinkers at home, we might be pleasantly surprised. Here, for example, is a wall of Warhol movie stars that at first glance look like the familiar, cynical money-spinners.

But look at Liza Minnelli from the far side of the room. Reduced to a pair of stark black eyes and vivid red lips, this is as haunting a portrait as they come.

In this intelligent selection of 105 works by 36 artists, Marui presents print's voyage to a brave new world. It casts off with a backward glance at great pioneers, including Pierre Bonnard (with a wonderful observation of a child laundress).

Then it gathers steam as it glides by the Jazz Age of Matisse to dock firmly in American waters. This is not the whole story, of course, yet the preoccupations of American artists are in many ways those of the century.

Here is awe of the Machine Age and chaos in the city. Here is alienation, the loss of faith and the rise of materialism. And that very American quality: belief in the next frontier.

Of course, it is not spelled out quite so clearly as that. In Abstract Expressionism, America's great art movement of the century, the viewer's interpretation is crucial. Thus, we have the minimal, interlocking geometries of Frank Stella, which he insisted were just colors on a surface. Others might see them as hymns to perfection. Or the portrait of a toothache.

The clean gas pumps and clear lines of Edward Ruscha's "Standard Station" have a note of nostalgia for wide continents, new beginnings and lost innocence, while his "Hollywood," with its famous sign pointing to a vast, russet sky, may signify a new dawn, or setting sun.

The excellent '30s-style triptych by Roy Lichtenstein, "Peace through Chemistry" (1970), is a tight composition of skyscrapers, sunshine, cogs and tubes. It may be a wry comment on our earlier faith in technology, before the invention of the atomic bomb. Or it could be as sincerely naive as the world of his comic strip images, which he discovered a few years before. He was apparently tipped into the world of large dots by one of his children, who showed him a comic and said, "I bet you can't paint as good as that!"

The playfulness of Pop Art did us all a favor by debunking the world of art criticism. But it also became a monster, feeding off the commercialism it claimed to despise. Claes Oldenburg's huge plastic tea bag is itself a piece of art history now, but it does little to set our pulse racing in 2001. However, it does highlight the enduring importance of traditional artistic qualities: the observant eye and painstaking hand.

"Self Portrait" by Jim Dine, 1970

Jim Dine's self-portrait of 1970, one of his signature dressing gowns, succeeds largely through its beautiful use of color, subtle texture and good composition. Look closely, and Jasper Johns' familiar version of the Stars and Stripes shows an admirable, painterly preoccupation with the brush, as well as evoking thoughts on patriotism in a time of war.

David Hockney brings a traditionally British eye for weather, atmosphere and interiors to the exotic location of California. Here are fresh studies of rain (which runs off the paper), sunshine pouring through blinds and palm trees feathering off into a pearly mist. There is skill too, as Hockney achieves delicious gradations in a Hiroshige-inspired screen print, and works his lithographer's crayon into a whirl in the vivid courtyards of a Mexican hotel.

A final recommendation: Pause by Robert Motherwell's quietly moving "Blue Elegy." It reflects the influence of Zen calligraphy, and shows what can be achieved when an artist leaves his ego behind and pours his soul into the work.