Kendrick is a Southern boy, a neer-do-well, a halogenic hipster setting up art-camp in Harlem. He conveys and connects with the world and the one individual alike, because he is his work; as with any masterpiece, that connection lives in the unconventional void – where authenticity cannot be barred by limitation, and catharsis cannot be marred by sterile sanity. He lives in his work – it is in that shared space where I feel, and it is in that shared experience where life is present. His art lives, loves, laughs, lauds, lambastes, legislates, and promulgates on behalf of true Pop. It unravels the American tapestry because we were wound too tightly; it dims the lights because they blind so brightly; it hearkens to the dawn though it heralds nightly; and all it takes is a liberated lid to refresh the mind and see what I see: if you want to see a sad boy shine – pay him; if you want to see a sad boy smile – pay attention.