The otherwise excellent essay in the catalogue accompanying Llyn Foulkes’ exhibition attempts to place his searing portraits of cultural and political antiheroes under the irregular umbrella of neo-Expressionism. This 51-year-old California veteran needs no such well-meaning camouflage. Foulkes first appeared as a young painter exhibiting at the Ferus Gallery in the late ’50s and early ’60s, his need to go for the jugular setting him apart from the glossy finish-fetish spirit of that time. Foulkes has long been a force to be reckoned with, a widely respected figure uncompromised by a decoration-loving