Street Art in Long Island City

"Mine is the largest art project in the world - bigger than Christo and the Gates in Central Park," Richard tells me on a street corner in Long Island City.

Unlike the 7,500 orange flags hung in Central Park in 2005 that Richard is referring to, his canvas is the City's streets, his broom his brush, his palette the color of people's lives.

A transplant from Brooklyn, Richard derives his inspiratin from a friend, a woman he couldn't help who died at the hands of her abusive boyfriend.

Speaking of the tears he shed over her death, he laments, "I could have filled the East River three more inches." Out of that loss, he decided a few years ago to create and man a telephone hotline for women who might be ready to leave violent situations.

The Sky Blue Foundation, as he's taken to calling his project, has a staff of one without an office, promoting a hotline that doesn't always have a phone connected to the number. The last time it was disconnected, Richard was laid up in a hospital bed for injuries sustained during a fall while working as a window washer.

While the lawsuit is pending, Richard sweeps the streets of this industrial neighborhood sandwiched between the East River and Newtown Creek, which separates the area from Greenpoint, Brooklyn. In an effort to beautify the neighborhood and draw attention to his domestic violence project, he sweeps, cleans windows, even paints the parking meters bright, decorative colors. This last artistic act rewards him with fines from the Department of Transportation, which cites him for defacing public property.

The streets are his urban garden and the work, he says, "fuels my spiritual growth" while helping him maintain his sobriety. He's entered into a symbiotic relationship with the owners of the local bodegas, mom-and-pop bakeries and gas station who in exchange for his cleaning-up the streets and beautifying their neighborhood provide him with windows, walls and fences to hang his hand-lettered posters advertising his hotline. They also give him hot meals, a couch to sleep on and, most importantly, a phone to go with the domestic violence call-in number.

In the past two years, Richard has fielded a handful of phone calls, often from the same women, one of whom has successfully left her abusive partner. He hopes to continue the trend, and believes that if he had a larger pallette to work from (more publicity and larger bilboards), he'd help save even more women. He says it's the least he could do for his friend who didn't make it out alive.