Artist becomes cause celebre with replica Revolutionary War sub

NEW YORK -- Duke Riley: Artist. Patriot. Moron?

On the morning after his arrest in New York Harbor, the skipper of a ramshackle replica of a Revolutionary War-era, wooden hulled submarine found himself splashed across the city's front pages Saturday in less than flattering terms.

"SUB MORON," declared the New York Post. Not to be outdone, the Daily News announced: "SUB-STANDARD BRAINS."

It was lots of attention for a formerly obscure performance artist.

Philip "Duke" Riley, 35, was surrounded by officers of the police harbor unit and the Coast Guard on Friday morning after two friends towed his plywood and fiberglass replica of the 1776 "Turtle" submarine toward the luxury ocean liner Queen Mary 2.

It may not have been the brightest idea in security conscious, post-9-11 New York. Riley was taken into custody and his floating homage to the spirit of 1776 was impounded.

Riley, a Brooklyn sculptor and performance artist described on his Web site as an "artist/patriot," did not respond to calls or e-mails seeking comment Saturday, but his stunt spoke for itself -- although perhaps none too eloquently.

He was hoping to get videotape of his tiny, egg-shaped sub against the towering majesty of the ocean liner for one of his upcoming shows.

He got within 200 feet of the ship's bow before a detective with the NYPD Intelligence Division spotted the partially submerged sub violating the security zone around the Queen Mary.

The Coast Guard issued citations for an unsafe vessel and violating a security zone, and the city police ticketed him for reckless operation of a craft and towing in a reckless manner. Riley's two friends escaped unscathed.

Riley apologized in a television interview Friday for creating the small-scale scare.

Police Commissioner Ray Kelly later described the incident as nothing more than "marine mischief," while gently characterizing Riley and his cohorts as "three adventuresome individuals. '

Last year, another Riley project caused an uproar when police shut down his illegal, ramshackle tavern near the Rockaway Inlet in Queens.

He was hardly chastened by the incident.

"I profile the space where water meets the land, traditionally marking the periphery of urban society, what lies beyond rigid moral constructs, a sense of danger and possibility," he wrote on his Web site.