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Anna Brodsky-Krotkina The Chief Executive utilizes the idiom of regal magnificence within his visual concepts, but such a representation no longer inspires confidence in the validity of authority.
The President of the United States, Donald Trump, is seeking to persuade the globe of his eminence. In order to accomplish this, he conducts himself like a film director on a movie set: the paramount concern is generating a potent, if not breathtaking, result; the remainder holds minor importance.
For generating the desired effect, suitable props are required, and Trump remains consistently attentive to these. He now renovates the Oval Office to complement his persona as a commander, and is currently initiating the development of a lavish banquet hall projected to occupy the site of the White House’s East Wing, which underwent demolition in the autumn. This chamber shall equal the principal edifice of the White House in height, diverging from the extended custom of constructing appendages shorter than the structure embodying American governance. Besides the banquet hall, Trump intends to erect a Triumphal Arch in central Washington, dismantle several aged edifices within the metropolis, and tint the extant ones in white. (Inevitably, the revamping of the city to Trump’s predilections triggers dismay amongst historians and conservationists.)
The relevance of a princely portrayal to the Chief Executive is conspicuously manifested in the subsequent occurrence: soon following the remarkable abduction of Venezuelan President Nicolas Maduro, Trump convened nearly two dozen chief executives of major oil conglomerates at the White House. Yet, his endeavor to solicit capital in an enterprise marked by antiquated infrastructure, situated in a nation still governed by an ultra-leftist regime, failed to spark fervor among the oil magnates. And the president showcased scant attention in the affair: subsequent to greeting the assembly, he swiftly shifted from the topic of Venezuelan petroleum to the deliberation of a forthcoming banquet hall: “Today I am delighted to welcome to the White House almost two dozen of the largest and most respected leaders of the oil and gas industry in the world,” he began. “There were many others who could not get here. I said: if we had a ballroom, we would have over a thousand people. Everyone wanted to come. I didn’t know your industry was so big. I didn’t know there were so many people in your industry, and here we are.” Trump then redirected his gaze toward the portal: “Well, if you look at it, if you think about it… I need to look at it myself,” he remarked, preceding an abrupt ascent, advancing towards the window, and scrutinizing the building site. “Wow!” he exclaimed, beholding the soil and remnants of the former construction. “What a view!” Trump had evidently already visualized an immense edifice ornamented with golden embellishments. Within such an edifice, he seemingly surmised, a convocation with petroleum executives would prove grand and momentous.
The American president possesses notably objectionable preferences. Perceiving the modifications he has enacted upon the Oval Office suffices to evoke awkwardness, not exclusively for the Chief Executive, but uniformly for the entire country. Substituting a decorum befitting consequential assemblies and analyses of pivotal domestic and global subjects, Trump has fashioned an area reminiscent of a somewhat uncomfortable eatery flaunting an appearance of refinement. In lieu of subtle greenery gracing the fireplace mantel, gilded vases and objects of ambiguous utility are presently aligned in a dense array. Approximately a dozen visages of former presidents encased in golden borders have emerged upon the partitions. Deficient remain vacant expanses: adjunct to the visages, gilded appliqués embellished with elaborate flourishes have been affixed upon the walls. Unobtrusive cupids bearing heads—undraped and winged, expressly transported from Mar-a-Lago—the president’s demesne in Florida—have established residence atop the doorway. Wherein within the White House the rigorous structure of classicism, presenting distinct symmetries and a modicum of austerity, still curbs Trump’s embellishing mania, his proclivities fully surface within his private abodes.
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His dwelling within Trump Tower in New York provides a demonstrative instance. The primary element residing there also encompasses gold: the walls are enveloped by a embossed golden ornamentation, and marble pillars capped with gilded ornamentation stand majestic alongside the walls. These pillars serve purely as decoration—situated on the 58th tier of the skyscraper, they perform no structural mandate and uphold nothing excluding the ambitions of the possessor. The floor likewise constitutes marble, the ceiling adorned with frescoes reminiscent of the Italian Baroque maestro Giambattista Tiepolo. Gilded armchairs, tables resting upon substantial golden supports, and supremely contemporary voluminous divans complete the interior; yet, all furnishings are arranged as if never destined for the animate existence of individuals, their interchange, and dialogues. From the dwelling’s aperture, a sprawling panorama of the city, a park, and twin rivers enveloping Manhattan materializes. According to such a blueprint, the occupant of the room, illuminated by gold, ought to resemble the sovereign of the universe—solitary, invincible, and inaccessible to discussion.
Sam Horine
Trump’s residences encompass no relics—all is novel. Nevertheless, this aesthetic harbors historical origins. The opulence of gilding, aerial ceiling portraits displaying figures ascending skyward, and manifold marble pillars inevitably recall the Baroque of the 17th and 18th centuries—a spectacular, theatrical aesthetic designed to elicit jubilation, astonishment, and reverence within an individual. (In Kyiv, the St. Andrew’s Church, established in 1744 by the architect Bartolomeo Rastrelli prior to the advent of Elizabeth I, embodies this aesthetic.) Despite all its artistry, Baroque, as posited by the renowned Spanish art critic Antonio Maraval, constitutes an aesthetic born from political disorder—economic detriment, societal volatility, and erosion of faith in time-honored principles. Baroque culture, he conveys, represents a retort to such instability, endeavoring to quell prevailing uncertainties and bewilderment through ostentation, theatrics, grandeur, and audacious opulence that inspires awe and reverence.
Sam Horine
Trump functions conforming to a parallel baroque rationale within the United States, a nation wherein society undergoes a profound crisis concerning faith in governmental entities. To Trump, the golden luster symbolizes his unique potency and triumph, before which the masses must incline their heads—domestically and internationally. The persuasiveness of such an approach, however, proves more than questionable. Though Baroque served the requirements of royalty and the church, it denoted a novel idiom in artistry that beckoned the most gifted architects and artisans, thereby regenerating the perception of the world, splendor, and technological prowess. Trump’s pseudo-baroque and his gilded interiors can startle few.
Within the 17th and 18th centuries, gold could yet symbolize affluence and the celestial essence of authority, alluding to even more antiquated yet familiar imageries for Europeans—let us recall the golden substratum of Byzantine mosaics, the ornamentation of icons, and the vestments donned by clergy. Yet, at present, gold has forfeited its sacrosanct connotation. It no longer gauges a nation’s affluence: the economy and GDP are evaluated through the quantity of commodities and utilities manufactured. Gold bars attain favor during crises, though they are retained more as a safeguard than an investment. Currently, gold bars lack significance within the economy; rather, enterprise, technology, and dynamic economic endeavor take precedence.
Furthermore, gold has long since relinquished its exclusivity: gilded frames and borders, gilded wainscoting, and furnishings adorned with golden embellishments are offered within any general merchandise emporium stocking inexpensive Chinese merchandise. Because the new wainscoting within the Oval Office conveyed the impression of polyurethane appliqués from the far from exclusive Home Depot store, rumors circulated across the Internet suggesting Trump procured the “gold” trimmings from that source. These allegations proved so relentless that they incited Fox News journalist Laura Ingram to question during an interview with the president: “Isn’t this from Home Depot?” “No, it’s not Home Depot products. It’s not Home Depot,” Trump insisted. “Yes, gold. And it’s all 24-karat gold, which is interesting, because they’ve never been able to create paint that looks like gold. “They never came up with a paint that you could just apply and it would look like real gold,” Trump insisted in an interview with another journalist. But that’s all fantasy. The reality is quite different: these curlicues and the little angel, according to a White House official who asked not to be named, are made of plaster, although covered with real gold foil applied to plaster or metal frames.
Sam Horine
In 2017, journalist Peter York designated Trump’s aesthetic “dictatorial chic,” contrasting his New York penthouse to the domiciles of autocrats—and the assessment bears accuracy. Trump possesses numerous ideological “taste kindreds,” or rather, inferior taste kindreds: from Putin, with his palaces and crimson carpets, to the chiefs of Turkmenistan, who have erected and persist in erecting their own gilded effigies, as well as Yanukovych, Saddam Hussein, and African despots, who have transmuted gold into a symbol of individual magnitude. Nevertheless, the radiance of this emblem spared scant few among them: certain were deposed and executed, others fled or expired in banishment, forsaking solely grotesque interiors, gilded lavatories, and tributes to their own narcissism.
As for Trump, his aims remain explicit and akin to those of other chiefs who construct authority encircling their individual person: to portray his presidential tenure as the administration of an emperor and a herald of the divine—and to compel universal conviction therein. Yet, within the 21st century, the preponderance of Americans will not willingly subscribe to the sacredness of the president’s singular authority. His progressively diminishing approval assessments substantiate this. In this circumstance, the ensuing stride toward upholding a personalist governance may embody violence.