He turned even a painting of Jesus into a performance about money
On the last night of the year, Donald Trump stood before a gathering of the wealthy and auctioned a freshly painted portrait of a blue-eyed, pale-skinned Jesus for $2.75 million, narrating each bid as though commerce itself were the evening's entertainment. The moment, captured on video and released into the wider world, became something larger than a transaction — a collision of sacred imagery, performative wealth, and the long, unresolved history of how power shapes the face of God. What was meant to project authority instead invited scrutiny, and what was meant to be a celebration of abundance became a mirror held up to contradiction.
- Trump opened bidding at one million dollars and turned the auction into a running monologue about wealth, singling out bidders by their financial status and joking about bankruptcy to a room of multimillionaires.
- The painting's white, blue-eyed depiction of Jesus ignited immediate backlash, reigniting a long-standing scholarly debate about how European colonizers used such imagery to legitimize imperial power and the oppression of non-white peoples.
- Social media shifted the conversation from the $2.75 million sale price to Trump's appearance — his ill-fitting tuxedo, upside-down accessories, and straining shoes drew as much commentary as the auction itself.
- What began as a New Year's Eve spectacle of faith and fortune landed as a study in contradiction: sacred imagery sold as entertainment, wealth celebrated through jokes about financial ruin, and a performance of power that invited ridicule instead of reverence.
On New Year's Eve, Donald Trump auctioned a live-painted portrait of Jesus — blue-eyed, pale-skinned, completed before a room of wealthy guests — opening the bidding at one million dollars and narrating every raise as though the transaction itself were the night's main act. He called out a Wall Street titan, joked about a bidding woman's husband, and declared the auction better entertainment than the musicians waiting to perform. When the price neared its peak, he warned the leading bidder not to go higher if it meant "a Chapter filing tomorrow morning" — a bankruptcy joke delivered to people spending millions on religious art. The painting sold for $2.75 million.
When video of the auction spread online, the conversation moved quickly from the price to the image. The Jesus in the painting was white. Viewers pointed out what historians have long argued: that Jesus, born into a Jewish family in the ancient Middle East, would have looked nothing like the figure on the canvas — and that white depictions of Christ traveled the world through European colonization, used to legitimize imperial power and the subjugation of indigenous and African peoples. The debate was not new, but the setting gave it fresh urgency.
Then attention turned to Trump himself. His tuxedo sleeves ran short. His pants were hemmed unevenly. His bowtie and cummerbund were both upside down. His shoes appeared to be splitting at the seams. The room he had filled with the language of wealth and spectacle became the backdrop for a different kind of portrait — one of a man whose performance of power, on closer inspection, kept coming apart at the edges.
On New Year's Eve, Donald Trump stood before a room of wealthy guests and took on the role of auctioneer for a painting that had just been completed in front of them. The artist, Vanessa Horabuena, had painted the portrait live—a depiction of Jesus with blue eyes and pale skin. Trump opened the bidding at one million dollars and never let the moment breathe. Instead, he narrated each successive bid as if conducting a show, repeatedly calling attention to the money moving around the room, the wealth of the bidders, the sheer spectacle of it all.
As the price climbed, Trump offered running commentary on the participants. He singled out one man as "the biggest guy on Wall Street," then turned his attention to a woman who kept raising the bid. When she signaled she wanted to go higher, Trump made a joke to the room about her husband's reaction, drawing laughter. He framed the auction itself as entertainment superior to the musicians scheduled to perform that night. He kept pointing, kept talking, kept making the transaction itself the show.
When the bidding neared its end, Trump delivered a line that would later draw sharp criticism online. Addressing the woman driving up the price, he cautioned her not to bid if the amount was too much—not to do it "if we have to see the Chapter filing tomorrow morning." It was a backhanded remark, a joke about bankruptcy, delivered to a room of people with enough money to spend millions on a painting. The painting sold for $2.75 million.
But when video of the auction circulated on social media, the focus shifted. People stopped talking about the price and started asking questions about the image itself. The Jesus in the painting had blue eyes. He had straight hair. He was white. Comments poured in from viewers pointing out the historical problem: Jesus was born to a Jewish family in what is now Israel and would have resembled people of Middle Eastern descent. This was not a new argument. In 2013, Fox News host Megyn Kelly had declared both Santa and Jesus to be white, insisting that tradition should not be altered. Scholars and historians have long countered that white depictions of Christ spread through European colonization and were used to justify imperial power while legitimizing the oppression of indigenous peoples and African Americans.
As the debate over the painting intensified, attention turned to Trump himself. Viewers began scrutinizing his appearance in the video—his tuxedo, his tailoring, his shoes. Comments detailed the problems: sleeves too short, pants hemmed unevenly, a clip-on bowtie worn upside down, a cummerbund also upside down, shoes that seemed to be bursting at the seams. One commenter noted that the shoes appeared to be working harder than anything else in the room. Another suggested the entire outfit looked like it had come from a Salvation Army thrift store. The moment that was meant to project wealth and authority instead invited closer inspection and ridicule.
What emerged from the evening was a portrait of a familiar dynamic: the president of the United States selling religious imagery to his supporters while celebrating wealth, making jokes about money and bankruptcy, and appearing in public in a way that undermined the very impression of power he seemed intent on projecting. The painting of Jesus became secondary to the spectacle surrounding it—the money, the performance, the contradictions on full display. In the end, even a portrait meant to be sacred became another vehicle for Trump's instinct to turn everything into a show.
Citações Notáveis
Don't do it if it's too much. Don't do it if we have to see the Chapter filing tomorrow morning.— Trump, addressing the bidder during the auction
Jesus was not a white man with blue eyes. And if you think Trump is a Christian, you've never actually read a Bible.— Online commenter responding to video of the auction
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why does it matter that Trump was the one running the auction? Why not just let the artist and the bidders do their thing?
Because he couldn't help but make himself the center of it. He narrated every bid, made jokes about people's money, turned a sale into entertainment. That's the point—he had to be the star, even when the moment wasn't about him.
The painting itself seems to be the real problem, though. A white Jesus. That's been debated for decades.
True, but what's interesting is how Trump's behavior during the auction made the whole thing feel even more hollow. He's joking about bankruptcy while someone spends $2.75 million on a painting. The imagery matters, but so does the context he created around it.
People also went after his appearance—his clothes, his shoes. Does that matter?
It matters because it's the opposite of what he was trying to project. He's surrounded by wealth, conducting a high-dollar sale, and his tuxedo looks like it came from a thrift store. The shoes are literally splitting. It's a visual contradiction that undermines his whole performance.
Is this really about the painting, or is it about Trump?
It's both. The painting represents something—a particular vision of Jesus that has a long history tied to colonialism and power. But Trump's presence at the auction, his commentary, his appearance—it all adds another layer. He turned a religious image into a spectacle about money and himself.