An American artist living in Europe made international headlines last month for moving an abandoned Detroit home to Europe and putting it on display at a major art fair.
The project ignited a heated debate about whether it was a meaningful artistic statement that would draw attention to the city's struggles or just another example of so-called ruin porn — the exploitation and glamorization of the city's decay. But critical arguments and polemics at 10,000 feet are one thing. The reality on the ground is something else entirely.
Six months after artist Ryan Mendoza's team finished stripping the facade off a two-story house near 8 Mile and Livernois — and assured neighbors the rest of it would be demolished immediately — the naked shell of the home still stands in the middle of a healthy block. It's a jumble of urban decay, rubble, debris, exposed beams and falling plaster.
The story of 20194 Stoepel has become a tangled web of lofty artistic intentions, unintended consequences and broken promises, leaving neighbors living next to blight they say is worse than when the house was simply abandoned.
"I feel disrespected to the max, like we are nothing," said Beverly Woung, who lives next door to the crumbling remains.
Responding to residents' complaints, the City Council approved an emergency demolition order on the property in December. Craig Fahle, director of public affairs for the Detroit Land Bank Authority, said the city is about to request bids for the demolition.
“The owner needs to finish the demolition of this house quickly or else the city will demolish it for him and send him the bill," Fahle said. "This type of thing is no longer acceptable in the City of Detroit."
Asked why it has taken the city three months to move from approving the demolition to requesting bids, Fahle cited having to do surveys, including checking for asbestos, and other procedures before knocking it down. The average cost of tearing down a house in Detroit is nearly $14,000, Fahle said. Owner Gregory L. Johnson would ultimately be on the hook for the payment if the city is forced to demolish the home. If he reimburses the city, then taxpayers would not foot the bill.
Johnson, a metro Detroiter and friend of Mendoza, donated the facade of the house to the artist for use in his project. It was Mendoza who hired Harley K. Brown, a Detroit businessman, to do the demolition. Johnson did not return phone calls seeking comment.
Brown said in an interview that Johnson initially wasn't sure whether he wanted to refurbish the house as a studio or tear it down. Once the weather got cold, that put their plans on hold. "We'll make a decision sometime in April whether we're gonna refurbish it or take it down," Brown said.
In an e-mail from Berlin, Mendoza, 44, said that it was Johnson's decision to either renovate or demolish, but that he had already paid Brown for the full demolition should Johnson decide to go that route.
"It was never my intention to leave the house partially deconstructed," Mendoza said. "Unfortunately, the demolition company I employed suspended its activities over the winter months due to the cold and is only now beginning to reactivate its operation.
"I am frustrated that the neighbors have to endure the ghastly sight of what is left of 20194 Stoepel. ... I hope they see things differently once the house does get taken down."
Known as "The White House," Mendoza's project was one of the most-talked-about works on display in February at Art Rotterdam, before the house was shipped to its permanent home at the Verbeke Foundation, a privately owned but public exhibition site in Antwerp, Belgium. Mendoza — who was born in Pennsylvania but has lived in Europe for more than two decades — began looking for a house in America as a way of exploring his personal history. But once his friend Johnson suggested he expand his search to Detroit, the project became a parable about the decline of a once-thriving American city.
The artist, Brown and crew began disassembling the house last March. By the end of October, the facade was gone, Mendoza had returned to Europe and his proxies in Detroit made themselves scarce. According to interviews this week with four people who live on Stoepel, the neighbors prodded Johnson and Brown repeatedly to live up to what they and Mendoza had promised — that the house would be soon be demolished.
"It's unsafe, very scary and an eyesore," said Tasha Squires, who lives directly across the street from the ruins. "If this was Farmington or Bloomfield Hills, it would be gone. But because it's Detroit, people think it's OK."
Squires, a sales manager in Detroit, said that when the house was abandoned but intact, she and her neighbors were at least able to mow the lawn and trim the bushes. The blight is worse now, she said. Squires' family has lived in its house on Stoepel since the 1940s, and she called living in Detroit and raising her two children in the city "a labor of love."
Squires said she mostly blames Johnson and Brown for the fact that the house is still standing, but she also said Mendoza was culpable.
"I like the idea of him trying to tell the story of Detroit, but when you come into the city, you have to see it all the way through. Shame on him. This tarnishes his project."
Block association president Dena Jamison said she tried for months to get Johnson and Brown to remove an overflowing Dumpster that had been left in front of the house. Finally, she called the company whose name was on the front of the Dumpster — even though the overdue Dumpster wasn't their responsibility — and told them a made-up a story about possibly having seen a body dumped inside of it and that she was going to call TV news stations. That at least got the company to retrieve the Dumpster to avoid the negative publicity of seeing their product in connection with a possible murder.
For critics of Mendoza, the plight of the neighbors who have become innocent victims proves the point that artists have no right to come to Detroit and treat the city as a personal blank canvas, no matter how noble their intentions.
"That's the problem with outsiders coming into Detroit where they don't understand how things are done," said Sarah Rose Sharp, a Detroit art critic and a 2015 Kresge Fellow. "Rules that apply in other places don't quite run the same way here, and if you just show up, expecting to snap your fingers at stuff and have things run the way you're used to, you haven't observed the surroundings enough to understand what the real issues are."
Meanwhile, neighbors started contacting city officials in late fall to raise a ruckus about the problem, which led to the house being added to the list of emergency demolition cases and started the countdown to today with the city preparing to step in. The timing is ironic. Mendoza will be arriving in Detroit shortly with his wife, Fabia Mendoza, who chronicled the creation of "The White House" in her short documentary, "Coming Home," which will be screened at Freep Film Festival at 2:30 p.m. April 2 at the Detroit Institute of Arts.
In his e-mail, Mendoza also said that he was planning a series of "art happenings" on 20194 Stoepel starting Monday and continuing through next Friday. At this point, however, the neighborhood doesn't really seem in the mood for a celebration.