A bucket of white paint covers a whale: FIFA sued by a 69 year old man in Dallas

A Bucket of White Paint, and 27 Years Gone

To tell this story, the most direct opening isn't a lead-in; it's a bucket of white paint on the exterior wall of a building in downtown Dallas one morning in May.

A life-sized humpback whale was gone.

Not finished painting. Covered up.

That wall was called "Whaling Wall 82." The man who painted it was Robert Wyland, 69 years old, a Floridian who has left 100 giant marine life murals around the world in his lifetime. This one in Dallas was 17,000 square feet—roughly the size of three standard basketball courts laid out flat, all hand-painted.

Finished in 1999.

For 27 years, it was the most easily photographed backdrop for tourists with their phones on that street, and a wall that Dallas locals felt was the least "Dallas" thing about the city.

In May 2026, it was painted over as a promotional backdrop for the World Cup.

The reason: To make space.

Wyland wasn't notified. Wyland didn't agree. What Wyland got was a $25 million lawsuit—no, a complaint filed in the U.S. District Court for the Northern District of Texas, naming FIFA, the building's owner Slate Asset Management, and the property management company as co-defendants.

The law it's based on is the 1990 federal law protecting visual artists.

The full name of that act is the Visual Artists Rights Act, known in the industry as VARA—sounds like an accounting firm's acronym, but it's actually a constitutional patch that gives mural authors the right to say "no" to their own paintings.

FIFA's response was standard.

"We were not involved. Please consult the local organizing committee."

The local organizing committee's response was even more standard.

"No comment."

Good grief. Three defendants, three sets of talking points, none of them gave a damn about this whale. This is the most underestimated lawsuit in the United States before the 2026 World Cup kicks off—and the most David-versus-Goliath matchup.

That 69-Year-Old Man and His Erased Ocean

Wyland is an interesting character. He's not some obscure urban artist; he's probably the world's longest-serving "professional whale painter." Starting in 1981, he launched a project called "The Wyland World Mural Project," with the goal of leaving 100 large-scale marine life murals across the globe. Whaling Wall 82 was one of them.

The year he finished it, he was just over forty.

You can picture a man in his forties standing in a basket lift, under the sweltering Dallas sun that could peel your skin, stroke by stroke painting the tail of a humpback whale, the back of a dolphin, the seabed of a coral reef onto the wall. Twenty-seven years later, that wall was told: Sorry, the World Cup logo is going on top.

Wyland's legal team quickly sent a cease-and-desist notice.

It didn't work.

So it turned into a lawsuit. Wyland himself described it as "the weak overcoming the strong." A 69-year-old painter against an international organization worth hundreds of billions of dollars, plus a building owner, plus a property manager.

Sounds like an upset match-up at this year's World Cup, but this time it's not about goals scored; it's about copyright, human rights, and "I painted something on a wall for 27 years—why do you get to paint over it just because you say so?"

"We Were Not Involved"—FIFA's Favorite Three Words

Anyone who has dealt with FIFA is familiar with this talk.

"Local organizing committee."

The frequency of that phrase is higher than the number of times the national anthems are played during the World Cup's opening match. FIFA's legal line is always the same: I am the brand owner; I license it to the local organizing committee; whatever the local organizing committee does, I don't meddle.

Translated into human language: It was the people below who did it; we didn't know, so don't come to us.

But Wyland's lawsuit makes it very clear—this building itself was a key carrier of World Cup promotional material. FIFA's name was on the new mural; FIFA's slogan was on the new mural; FIFA's sponsors were probably lined up next to it.

You say you didn't know?

That's like Beckham saying before a match, "I really didn't know I was supposed to wear number 7 today."

Does anyone believe it? In the industry, no one does.

Even more darkly comedic is that FIFA's "pass the buck to the local" strategy has been worn out in World Cup event operations. For the Qatar tournament, human rights issues were directed to the local committee. For Russia, fan violence issues went to the local committee. Now for the US, a bucket of white paint covering a whale—same thing, the local committee.

FIFA is always at the top of the pyramid.

The blame is always at the bottom.

This time, the local committee chose silence. Silence is a higher level of refusal than "no comment."

"He Knew"—The Building Manager's Second Script

Of course, FIFA is not the only defendant in this lawsuit. The building's owner, Slate Asset Management, and the property management company were also named.

Their story was different.

The building manager's version: The local organizing committee told us Wyland knew about it.

So, FIFA says "we don't care"; the building manager says "we thought he knew"; Wyland says "I didn't know, I didn't agree." Three people, three different accounts, three lines. That's the most interesting part of this kind of lawsuit—it's no longer a simple "right or wrong" question, but a tug-of-war over "informed consent."

The spirit of the VARA law is: Even if you are the landlord, even if you are a sponsor, even if you are FIFA worth hundreds of billions of dollars—if that artwork "has recognized stature," if it's on public display, then its creator has a veto power.

What does "recognized stature" mean?

Wyland's wall has existed for nearly 30 years since 1999, photographed, sketched, and taken home as a backdrop by countless people. It's not just any wall. It's Dallas's version of "Ne Zha Stirs Up the Sea"—or, an American version of "the grandpa graffiti artist fined by city management 27 years later."

But this time, it wasn't the grandpa who got fined; it was his painting. And the one fining him wasn't city management; it was the World Cup.

VARA, a Niche Law from 1990, Faces Its Big Test in 2026

Talking about VARA is quite ironic.

It was passed in 1990. That year, Maradona had just led Napoli to their second Serie A title; Samsung hadn't made mobile phones yet; the "Waikiki beach surfer kid" Obama was still in college.

This law protects two types of artists: painters and sculptors. The core right it protects is called the "right of integrity"—if you are a painter and your work has "recognized stature," then no institution, no individual can destroy, modify, or remove it without your consent.

Note the wording—not "cannot copy," but "cannot destroy."

In the past 35 years, this law has been invoked only a handful of times because most artworks are in museums, and museums usually don't casually paint over other people's paintings. But murals are different. Murals live on walls, and walls belong to someone else. That's VARA's true battlefield—where exactly is the boundary of public art?

This time, FIFA—or the local organizing committee—crossed that line.

The core of Wyland's legal team's argument is the two words "recognized stature." Once the court determines that Whaling Wall 82 has recognized stature, then whoever applied that bucket of white paint did so illegally.

That recognition is far more important than the $25 million Wyland is asking for. Because it would set a precedent for all public murals in future American cities. That means the 2026 World Cup, across eleven host cities in the US, might leave behind not just nine stadiums and a bunch of sponsor logos—but also a precedent that permanently changes the rules for protecting public art in the United States.

2,600 Signatures, Nine Matches, and a Wall Still Half-Painted White

This matter has exploded in art and urban planning circles. An online petition has garnered over 2,600 signatures. The number isn't huge, but in a lawsuit where FIFA is the defendant, that number isn't shabby either.

Because behind those 2,600 signatures are 2,600 locals, out-of-town tourists, Instagram bloggers, and ordinary people who once passed that wall and took a photo. They are telling FIFA: This whale is ours.

FIFA hasn't formally responded. The local organizing committee says the new mural will "reflect the spirit of the 2026 World Cup," and—this is a detail reported by the German newspaper Die Welt—they will "retain part of Wyland's mural."

That statement is very ambiguous. It could mean "we didn't paint over the entire wall," or it could mean "we plan to add a few strokes over the part we already painted white."

The difference: Is it a remedy? Or is it a repaint? Is it a life extension? Or is it a posthumous canonization?

But for Wyland, this isn't something a patch-up can fix.

A whale that has been covered up, even if its tail is showing, is no longer that whale.

It has become a "Wyland-style poster."

Dallas locals understand this better than anyone. Because Dallas is one of the host cities for this World Cup, hosting a total of nine matches. Behind those nine matches are nine billboards, nine opening ceremony stages, nine "Welcome to Dallas" signs. And now, the starting point for those nine welcomes is a whale wall covered by white paint.

Epilogue: The Next Chapter of That Bucket of White Paint

How will this case proceed?

In the short term, FIFA's legal machine will enter standard procedures—motions to dismiss, requests for change of venue, challenges to the applicability of VARA. They will drag it out. Drag it out until the 2026 World Cup starts, until global attention is sucked away by the opening match.

But Wyland's legal team won't stop. Because this is no longer about $25 million. This is about whether a bucket of white paint can simply erase 27 years of my work off my wall. This is about whether an organization like FIFA can bypass any rule it doesn't want to follow with the words "localization." This is also about whether a niche federal law passed in 1990, used only a few times in 35 years, dares to step up before the 2026 World Cup.

The answer is not in that bucket of white paint. The answer is on the docket of the U.S. District Court for the Northern District of Texas.

Wyland is 69 years old this year.

FIFA is 107 years old this year.

One old man, against a monster over a hundred years old. This time, that monster isn't wearing a jersey or a whistle; it's stepping onto the field carrying a bucket of white paint.

P.S. If you ever pass through Dallas and see a wall so white it shines, don't think it's a new painting.

It's a whale's grave.