COLUMN: Washington Is Losing Its Artistic Soul for Two Years of Massive Construction Projects

The Controversy Surrounding the Name Change

This closure comes amid particularly tense relations between political leaders and the arts community. Indeed, the announcement of the renovations follows the Kennedy Center’s board of directors’ controversial decision to rename the institution the Trump Kennedy Center—a change that sparked a wave of negative reactions within the arts community. Several artists and companies announced that they were canceling their performances in protest. This backlash undoubtedly played a role in the decision to close the complex, allowing the institution to sidestep a potential crisis by putting its activities on hold. The controversy has spread to Congress, where lawmakers have attempted to have Trump’s name removed from the institution—so far without success.

There is something cruelly ironic about this sequence of events. A venue named after an assassinated president is being renamed after a man whose presidency has divided the nation. Artists are reacting, boycotting, and expressing their dissent through the only language they truly master: absence. And the response is to close the venue. As if the problem could be solved by the outright disappearance of artistic activity. This is the logic of a business executive facing a strike, not the logic of a political leader facing a cultural crisis. And it terrifies me—this inability to understand that art cannot be extinguished.

A broader project to redesign the monumental landscape

The renovation of the Trump Kennedy Center is part of a broader strategy undertaken by the Trump administration since it returned to power. The president has embarked on a series of changes aimed at reshaping the appearance and atmosphere of the White House and other iconic monuments in Washington. Last October, Trump unveiled a new monument dubbed the “Trump Arch,” intended to commemorate the nation’s 250th anniversary next year. This grand arch, a near-twin of Paris’s iconic Arc de Triomphe, is designed to welcome visitors crossing the Arlington Memorial Bridge from Arlington National Cemetery toward the heart of the U.S. capital. The administration asserts that this arch, like the other projects, will respect the classical architectural style of Pennsylvania Avenue.

I am both fascinated and frightened by this obsession with monumental grandeur. A triumphal arch named after him, spectacular renovations, gilding everywhere… It seems like a desperate attempt to carve his name in stone so that history cannot forget him. That’s the mindset of a Roman emperor, not a president of a modern democracy. And this idea of copying the Arc de Triomphe in Paris—it’s as if they wanted to import a bit of that European grandeur, that aura of imperial power. As if Washington didn’t already have its own architectural language, its own history.

The Impact of Personal Style on Institutions

Trump’s pronounced taste for opulence is clearly evident in his renovation projects. The Oval Office has already been transformed with gold accents adorning the ceiling and door frames, reflecting his personal style. Beyond the Oval Office, the administration has unveiled the “Presidential Hall of Fame,” a series of portraits of former presidents displayed along the colonnade of the West Wing. Among the most significant projects underway is a 90,000-square-foot ballroom at the White House, designed to accommodate approximately 650 seated guests. The administration has stated that this spacious ballroom will respect the classic architectural style of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, consistent with the other renovations undertaken.

There’s this idea that grandeur is measured by luxury, opulence, and an abundance of precious materials. And I can’t help but think of that phrase attributed to Louis XIV: “I am the State.” Except that in this case, it’s “I am Taste.” As if one man’s personal aesthetic could—and should—be imposed on the institutions of an entire nation. The gilded details of the Oval Office, the gigantic ballroom… all of this tells a story of power and wealth, but not necessarily a story of democracy. That’s when I realize we’re touching on something very profound: the relationship between politics and beauty.

Uncertainty for Arts Institutions

The Trump Kennedy Center is home to several resident companies that rely on its facilities for their activities. The two-year closure poses a major challenge for these institutions, which will have to find alternative solutions to continue their artistic missions. Among the companies affected are the National Symphony Orchestra, the Washington Opera, and the Washington Ballet, among others. Uncertainty reigns regarding the future of these organizations: Will they have to temporarily relocate to other venues? Will performances be canceled outright? The lack of clarity in official communications adds to the anxiety of artists and cultural administrators, who are struggling to plan their upcoming seasons.

For a ballet company, two years is a generation of dancers. For an orchestra, two years means hundreds of rehearsals and entire programs designed for specific acoustics. I don’t think people understand just how essential continuity is in artistic life. It’s not like a factory that you shut down and reopen two years later. A performance venue has a soul, a memory, and a connection with the artists who perform there. Breaking that continuity means running the risk that the spirit that animated that place will dissolve, evaporate, and disappear.

An Unprecedented Mobilization

The decision to close the Trump Kennedy Center has sent shockwaves through the American arts scene. Numerous artists, choreographers, musicians, and directors have expressed concern about the future of artistic creation in the nation’s capital. Some see it as an attempt to stifle critical artistic expression, while others view it as a simple manifestation of the political world’s lack of understanding of the realities of the cultural sector. Social media is abuzz with posts from artists sharing their attachment to this venue and their dismay at this sudden closure. Cultural organizations are beginning to mobilize to defend the sector’s interests and try to minimize the impact of this decision on artists and audiences.

When I see this mobilization, I tell myself that there is hope. Art won’t take this lying down; it won’t let itself be silenced without a fight. There is something beautiful in this capacity for resistance, this solidarity that forms among creators who don’t necessarily cross paths in everyday life. It’s as if danger were forging bonds. And then there’s this incredible thing: artists know, better than anyone, what it means to lose their workplace, their creative tool. It’s a pain they know, that they’ve experienced, and that brings them together today.

The Political Appropriation of Cultural Spaces

This controversy raises fundamental questions about the relationship between political power and cultural spaces in a democracy. How far can a president go in transforming institutions that, by their very nature, should transcend political shifts? The Kennedy Center, inaugurated in 1971 in memory of President John F. Kennedy, was meant to be a sanctuary for the arts, a place above partisan strife. Its extensive renovation and renaming by the Trump administration break with this tradition of political neutrality, raising the question of the sustainability of cultural institutions in the face of the shifting will of elected leaders.

That’s where the problem lies, you might say. An elected president has the right to decide what happens in federal institutions. That’s democracy. But democracy isn’t just the right to decide; it’s also the responsibility to preserve what transcends us. The arts, culture, collective memory… these things should not be at the mercy of a single term, an election, or one man. There should be red lines, untouchable sanctuaries. Otherwise, what’s the point of having institutions that outlast the men who lead them?

An Uncertain Return to Normal

When the Trump Kennedy Center reopens its doors in 2028—if everything goes according to the announced schedule—will the American arts landscape have survived this two-year hiatus? Some experts fear that this period could prove fatal for certain resident companies, which will be unable to maintain their activities without their usual infrastructure. Others hope that this forced hiatus will provide an opportunity to rethink the center’s model, making it more resilient and better adapted to the realities of the 21st century. One thing is certain: the reopening will be closely scrutinized by the international arts community, which will be waiting to see whether the “new and spectacular complex” promised by Trump has retained its artistic soul or has become a gilded empty shell.

2028 is a long way off. Too far for art, which lives in the moment, in the present, in the here and now. I fear that what will be missing at the reopening will not be the beauty of the venue, the quality of the installations, or the splendor of the gilding. What may be missing is what cannot be seen: the habit of coming here, the ritual of the performance, the collective memory of the thousands of evenings spent there. That cannot be renovated. It is cultivated, year after year, evening after evening. And once it is broken, it takes years to rebuild it.

A victory at what cost?

The closure of the Trump Kennedy Center for two years of major renovations represents a bold gamble by the Trump administration. Betting on the future by sacrificing the present, transforming a hub of living culture into a giant construction site in the name of promised greatness… On July 4, 2026, Washington will celebrate its 250th anniversary, but it will do so without its artistic heart. The 250th anniversary of independence will be celebrated, to be sure, but with an empty space at the center of the festivities. This absence may say more about Trump’s America than all the triumphal arches and gilded ballrooms combined. It will say something about the place of art in this country, about its fragility in the face of politics, about its ability to resist or to disappear.

I think back to those artists who canceled their performances to protest the name change. They were right, without even knowing it. What they sensed was the possibility that the place no longer truly belonged to them. That it would become something else—a trophy, a symbol, a monument to the glory of one man rather than a space for shared creation. And now, faced with this announced closure, I realize something terrifying: they didn’t lose the battle. They simply sensed that the war had already been lost long ago.

Signed, Jacques Provost