Roof sign or slippery slope?
City, muralist spar over whether design is an unlawful ad or a work of art
For two decades, passers-by could easily miss Bud Adams’ vacant midcentury modern building on the Southwest Freeway near Hillcroft.
Not anymore. The low-slung, massive roof over the car dealership, formerly owned by the late NFL Houston Oilers/Tennesse Titans founder, was recently painted yellow with boxy patches of red, Luv Ya blue and white that beam like joyful sunshine.
The design isn’t recognizable unless, maybe, you know the logo of Joyride, the new Houston car leasing company that now owns the building; in which case you could imagine it as one of those magic-eye brain games. That has city sign inspectors seeing red, and it has put the company and popular street artist Sebastien
“Mr. D 1987” Boileau in hot water.
The dispute escalated this week after Joyride appealed two citations for violating Houston’s sign codes and the city charged Boileau with not holding a sign painting license, painting an unlawful sign and painting a sign on a roof.
“I’m not a sign painter. I’m an artist,” Boileau said. “It’s a slippery slope for the practice of murals in Houston.”
The trouble began in late January, when a permit to install a sign with Joyride’s logo on its roof was denied. Co-founder and CEO Rick Williams still wanted to do “something fun” with 10,000square foot surface. “The roof deserves some sort of attention,” he said. “It’s unique, pitched at a low angle, with terrific visibility from the freeway.”
Williams had hired Boileau several years ago to transform a downtown space for his previous company, Texas Direct Auto. “He took this ugly little building and turned it into a ‘colony on Mars,’” Williams said. This time, he asked Boileau to paint a mural that might cleverly incorporate his company’s colors, without text or logos, in a way that would satisfy officials.
Boileau saw an ugly roof and a massive canvas too inviting to resist. “I deliberately, extremely abstracted the imagery with the knowledge that we didn’t want to rub the city the wrong way,” he said. “It’s my artistic interpretation, which had a deliberate goal of not matching the logo — not even a curve of it.”
Inspired by Joyride’s techbased aesthetic, Boileau pixelated the original four-color imagery, breaking it into blocks of 20 contrasting colors. His execution and materials were strictly street-art driven, he added. “I emptied 100 spray cans that I exploded with screwdrivers.”
Influenced by Pop Art, Boileau is one of Houston’s savviest mural entrepreneurs, employing a team of painters to help fulfill commissions. He devotes a lot of time to civic projects. He posed with Mayor Sylvester Turner recently in front of his mural for the 2020 census campaign. A week before the pandemic shutdown began, city officials toasted him during the unveiling of a mural that promotes the for-profit entertainment giant Cirque du Soleil.
“I’ve done more things than I can count with the city,” Boileau said. “I’m majorly Team Houston.”
Art experts can debate what defines a piece as abstract or representational for days. Boileau’s mural may be colorful but some people might think it hits a gray area.
“I don’t think it looks like a logo, but everything is subjective,” said Elia Quiles, co-owner of Up Art Studio, which manages many civic commissions for Houston’s street artists. She was not surprised to see inspectors redtag Joyride’s project. “They’re kind of picky about what they consider to be advertising,” she said.
Because of that, Up Art Studio discourages requests for logos on its projects. A few years ago, Quiles said, their artists created a mural on Washington Avenue commissioned by Karbach Brewing Co. that drew a citation because it included a beer can with a logo. They complied by painting over the image.
“I don’t think it looks like a logo, but everything is subjective.”
Elia Quiles, co-owner of Up Art Studio
Ironically enough, Boileau’s best-known wall, the 11,000square foot “Preservons La Creation (Let’s Preserve the Creation)” contains a couple of very clear logos — one for the Midtown District, which commissioned it, and one for BMW, the “fiscal sponsor.” That project also caught the attention of sign inspectors, but Boileau just saw their questions as bureaucratic red tape. The issue “disappeared magically” after he referred the inspectors to the Midtown District, he said.
The city first cited Joyride several weeks ago, after Boileau had primed the roof with a blue base coat and a grid. A string of emails ensued. Boileau said his renderings did not satisfy the inspectors, and that they suggested modifications. “We were confused and continued to work, because we weren’t painting a sign,” Boileau said.
Erin Jones, a city Public Works spokesperson, said she couldn’t comment on some aspects of the issue since it goes before an appeals board next month. “I hate for Sebastien to think we’re regulating art,” she said, “but this violates the first commandment of the regulations: No signs on roofs.” Anything with a logo for a business must be done by a licensed sign contractor, she added. “Our sign guys love art. But allowing a logo sets a dangerous precedent for advertising.”
Williams, the Joyride CEO, is not backing down. “It seems obvious to me that it’s art,” he said. “This project took months to develop. It’s not some sign company rolling out vinyl. It was a labor of love.”
Preservationists might balk for other reasons. Although not iconic enough to be listed in author Stephen Fox’s official Architectural Guide to Houston, the building has been a familiar landmark in the Sharpstown area since 1965. It stayed vacant for years because Adams would not sell it during his lifetime.
Williams said he’s especially disappointed by the city’s criminal complaints against Boileau. “He’s well-known as an artist, not a sign painter. And of all the things … given the current climate, with people struggling and trying to get back to work, it just seemed petty.”
Art historian Cindy Lisica, a former Houston art dealer, is among friends of Boileau’s who have sent letters to the city in his defense. “This unique, hand-painted mural is within the category and definition of fine art, and not a sign or advertisement,” she wrote. “It is not printed, has no sign graphics or advertisement, and is noncommercial in nature. It does not offer services or products.”
Even if Houston’s sign inspectors like art, Boileau does not think they should have the power to decide what is art and what isn’t. He frets that Houston’s vibrant mural culture will suffer if he loses. “If this is a sign, I don’t know what art is anymore,” he said.