Washington — a city built from scratch to be the nation’s capital — has always been a battleground for a so-called “American architecture.” From the city’s creation in the 1790s, grandiose classical intentions were a distinct part of it. George Washington and Thomas Jefferson, the first and third presidents, respectively, were active builders in their own right, and they steered the city’s earliest federal buildings toward ancient Greek and Roman precedents that could drape the new and untested democratic experiment in an imagined architectural lineage. But the federal buildings constructed over the next 2½ centuries display a remarkable range of expressions that are representative of the evolving aspirations of the country.

As we celebrate the nation’s semiquincentennial this year, it’s useful to look back 50 years to the bicentennial, which debuted an important series of new structures in the capital: Harry Weese’s architecturally distinguished Metro system. With wide arches and deep concrete coffers, Weese created memorable modern spaces that have stood the test of time while providing inspiring and convenient mass transportation across the city. Every inch of Weese’s design is monumental and extraordinary, but it was created in service to a public transportation system that elevates the daily lives of its users in the most democratic way.

Which is quite different from the new ballroom structure that’s about to rise at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. NW.

The White House has always been a large home, but by design, it is not a palace. Ireland-born James Hoban based it on a neoclassical house in Dublin that was modern at the time and domestic. And Donald Trump is not the first president to propose a grandiose and overbearing addition. In 1889, President Benjamin Harrison and his wife proposed large wings to the east and west sides of the house with a conservatory to the south that would have created a private courtyard. Thankfully, process and congressional oversight saw that this scheme never came to fruition.

One of the White House’s most compelling features has always been its domestic scale and ornamentation. In a city where architectural bombast has often been favored over architectural quality, the White House has stood apart for its grace and modesty. It’s been bookended since the 19 th century by the Treasury Department to its east and the Eisenhower Executive Office Building to its west — both examples of quantity over quality.

The thoughtfully scaled and historic East Wing deserved a better fate than its wanton destruction last fall. Most of us had no idea there were plans afoot for an immense ballroom on its site until the demolition was underway. Those initial plans, prepared by the talented classical architect James McCrery, were alarming in their scope and scale.

President Donald Trump displays a rendering of his proposed White House ballroom in the Oval Office of the White House on Oct. 22, 2025, in Washington, D.C. (Alex Wong/Getty) But like any typical Trump weave, the ballroom continued to grow in size until reaching a capacity of 1,000 — the kind of round number that appeals to the real estate developer mindset. It’s unlikely we’ll ever hear McCrery’s reasons for leaving the project as long as Trump holds political power, but it’s clear from watching the evolution of the design that eventually the architect realized that there was no way to tame the monstrous program that will overwhelm the historic residence.

McCrery had introduced the Corinthian order to the ballroom entrance, projecting a grandiosity above and beyond that of the main house, which uses the more modest and domestic Ionic order. But he had the propriety to limit his set of six Corinthian columns to the east façade of the addition where they faced away from the residence and toward the larger Treasury Department. Upon inheriting the commission, current architect Shalom Baranes expanded the east entrance to eight columns while introducing a set of 10 columns on the south face, where the elevation will visually overwhelm Hoban’s original White House.

Let’s be clear: Trump doesn’t understand the basics of classical design, yet he instinctively seems to know how to overpower and destroy. This is not the American exceptionalism that seeks to be a shining city on a hill; it’s the American exceptionalism that is the schoolyard bully. This ballroom design wants your lunch money; in fact, it wants everybody’s lunch money.

And now Rodney Mims Cook Jr., the Trump-appointed chair of the Commission of Fine Arts, has recently suggested swapping out the White House’s Ionic capitals for Trump’s preferred Corinthian. The idea belies a remarkable lack of understanding of the classical orders and proportions from someone whose résumé suggests he should know better. The classical architectural orders are not a simplistic kit-of-parts; they form an overall proportional system that can be bent a bit, but is more likely than not to break in the hands of an architect who’s unskilled in their subtleties. Replacing the original Ionic capitals would be the architectural version of Mar-a-Lago face, a Botox-infused revision that would mar the historic structure’s overall bearing and demeanor.

Trump’s executive order “Making Federal Architecture Beautiful Again” expresses — several times — that new classical federal architecture must “command respect from the general public.” Under the Constitution, the president has command of the armed forces and nothing else. But the only way this ballroom can succeed is via “command” — as nothing of its design suggests it is deserving of respect. It is a bastardized version of classical architecture that required its initial architect to step away.

Trump isn’t the first person in Washington to embrace classicism’s power with no regard for its subtleties. For every first-rate classical building such as the John Russell Pope-designed National Gallery of Art, there’s a bunch more overbearing examples such as the Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History by Hornblower & Marshall or the Eisenhower Executive Office Building by Alfred B. Mullett. But the so-called East Wing Modernization — the laughable official name for the ballroom project as it’s steamrolled through the required approval processes — promises to not even reach the quality of these lesser examples.

Fifty years ago, Chicago’s very own Weese demonstrated how to powerfully inspire us through architectural design that spoke of classical traditions in a clear new voice. As we celebrate the semiquincentennial, we see far less talented architects disfiguring the historic White House in the service of a president whose grasp of architecture’s power is limited to hollow expressions of classicism, immense size and needlessly gilt finishes.

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Edward Keegan writes, broadcasts and teaches on architectural subjects. Keegan’s architecture column is supported by a grant from former Tribune critic Blair Kamin, as administered by the not-for-profit Journalism Funding Partners. The Tribune maintains editorial control over assignments and content.

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