New York is home to some of the world's great art, in the Metropolitan Museum of Art; the Museum of Modern Art  and —Bushwick. That's right. Bushwick. It's a story of sorrow and redemption. It's the story of Joe Ficalora.

Ficalora tells a story of meeting a couple in Bushwick recently, only to find they were visiting from just across the river:

"I said, 'How’re ya doing? What are you doing here?' And they’re like, 'Oh we heard about this place and we wanted to come see the artwork.' I was like, 'Where ya from?' They’re like, 'the Upper East Side.' I said, 'Oh you just move to New York?' They're like, "No, we’ve lived here our whole lives." I was like, 'Huh. Being that we’re both New Yorkers  – never thought you’d find yourself in Bushwick at this age in the middle of the day on a Saturday!'"

Not too long ago, the idea of New Yorkers and tourists visiting Bushwick would have seemed bizarre.

Now, they are streaming into the once-gritty neighborhood to view works of art, organized by perhaps the most unlikely art impresario in New York — Joe Ficalora.

"I didn't know anything about any of this," he said. "I didn't know anything about of this this world."

Now he's on a first name basis with many of the world's best known street artists. Joe Ficalora runs his family's steel business on Troutman street.

But his claim to fame is creating the Bushwick Collective, an outdoor gallery of art work on the sides of dozens of building in the neighborhood.

"They can’t always paint at that scale," Ficarola said. "And to provide them the opportunity to not worry about anyone saying to them about painting at that scale, allows people to create amazing things like what Danielle Mastrion created of that Biggie."

In the 1970s, 80s and into the 90s, the graffiti in Bushwick symbolized a neighborhood plagued by drugs, arson and crime.

Today, the Bushwick Collective is solidifying the community’s street cred as one of Brooklyn’s trendy, up-and-coming neighborhoods.

"I happened to be standing on the corner and they stopped their skateboard and their looking around, their eyes are like and I’m like 'what’s wrong?' And they’re standing their right in front of me, I’m like, 'what’s wrong?' They’re like, 'dude look around this is awesome!'"

The collective was borne out of tragedy.

In 2011, Ficalora’s mother, died after a three year battle with a brain tumor. Her son quickly unraveled.

"I found myself, after my mom died, still not feeling free of her suffering and pain," Ficalora said. "It stayed with me. It stained my soul. And it took my life apart."

The following year Ficalora was still grieving. The neighborhood was changing, but he couldn't shake the tragic memories of his mother and father. To escape the sadness, Ficalora thought to change his surroundings by researching street art. At his invitation, several artists came to Bushwick, and the Collective was born.

"I’d give anything to have my mother back, uh, anything," he said. "But, if anyone was gonna come to my rescue, I’m honored that it was all the graffiti and street artists that gave me an inspiration.

"And without them, the power of their art, has helped me put some of what’s broken, back together."

In that first year, 2012, Ficalora and his team also initiated what has become an annual tradition for thousands of street art and music fans — the Bushwick Collective block party.

"There were little a-ha moments," he said. "I consider them moments of energy, of putting me back together. The day after the block party, 2012, I drove down Troutman street and I felt, I felt good again."

Ficalora was born and raised in Bushwick, and lived through some hard times.

"I had prostitutes in front of my house," he recalled. "People would come here to pick up hookers, or to do drugs, or to kill somebody, or to drop off a dead body, it’s like, that’s what would happen here."

When he was 12, the dangers of Bushwick hit home. Ficalora’s father was mugged and murdered in the neighborhood.

"I never said I wanted to get out," he said. "Even when I was told at 12 years old, 'Your father was found, he was murdered, it was a robbery,' I never said, 'I’m gonna get out of here someday!'

"It’s just, I thought it was a part of everyone’s life.  I thought that what I was going through in Bushwick, everyone went through in every part of New York."

Ficalora went to Christ the King High School in Queens, and then earned a scholarship to study marketing and advertising at C.W. Post LIU in Brookville, Long Island.

While visiting friends there, he got a chance to see how the other half lives.

"His house servant, or whatever I don’t know what the hell you call that, opened the door and we took a bridge over to the section of his house. I’ve never seen anyone live like that."

"My family’s here and I’m very close to them so I wasn’t gonna leave. My home, where I grew up, all my memories, everything I have, here."

Now this Bushwick lifer has become an influential part of the new Bushwick.

"Why doesn’t Bushwick deserve to have, y’know, different versions, different cultures of restaurants and different things that can enlighten us and broaden our horizons?" Ficalora asked. "Why does it have to all be factories and it’s all we knew?

"It’s changing in a way where you have a diverse amount of people bringing something new to the table, and that’s great. The ridiculous cost of rent is bad."

He now splits his time between the family business and the Bushwick Collective, which continues to expand by getting more building owners to give up their walls.

There are some rules — nothing offensive to children or women and once a building owner agrees — the wall becomes the artist's canvas and the artist's alone.

"This is Foetus, this is his work. You’re not gonna go up to Foetus and say, 'Hey paint me a park bench with a cloud.' This is – when you see these characters, all these colorful characters with these whacky eyes and all this detail inside of them, you know it’s Foetus, I know it’s Foetus. You know."

The Bushwick Collective has already given Joe Ficalora what he longed for in the aftermath of his mother's death.

A sense of inner peace, a life with passion.

A guy who thought art was for other people essentially saved by art.

"This thing’s been organic, there’s never been a business plan – you know that question of 'what are you gonna do next?' I don’t know! "

"I didn’t know I’d get to do half the things that we’ve done," Ficalora said. "I’m just doing what I can do and enjoying the ride for the moment."

This story includes video footage produced by Cartuna and @streetartdrone and a photo by Rafael Gonzalez: Instagram @Zurbaran1.