“Wearing cement shoes” and “sleeping with the fishes”—phrases borrowed from Mafia lore and immortalized in The Godfather and other gangster films—came to mind as I descended in a weighted vest toward Concrete Coral (2025), Leandro Erlich’s new underwater sculpture and marine habitat. Yet rather than conjuring the morbid or dystopian, the project revealed itself as a meditation on renewal, regeneration, and hope.
Curator and REEFLINE founder Ximena Caminos invited Erlich to reimagine his 2019 sandcastle work Order of Importance—a life-size traffic jam of 66 cars and trucks constructed from 330 tons of sand in South Beach, Miami—as the inaugural installation of the ocean initiative. Replacing ephemeral sand with marine-grade concrete, Concrete Coral features a 22-car installation that now forms the base of a manufactured reef off Miami Beach. In a conceptual twist, the project will only be considered successful once it relinquishes its sculptural form—gradually subsumed by coral growth and the creation of a living reef that sustains marine life.
Working with a team of artists, scientists, and environmentalists, Caminos embraces a Duchampian ethos, dissolving disciplinary boundaries to creatively support Miami’s fragile ecosystem. Once the world’s third-largest reef system, the Florida Reef Tract has suffered dramatic degradation. Erlich’s installation marks the first phase of REEFLINE’s ambitious plan to develop a seven-mile underwater public park—an evolving nexus of art and environmental awareness and restoration.
Visitors can swim, paddleboard, or travel by boat to snorkel or scuba at Concrete Coral, which is located just 800 feet from the beach. When I visited last winter, algae had already begun to coat the submerged vehicles, and fish were feeding and nesting in the wheels and undercarriages of the cars. Since then, the first of 2,200 planned corals have been inserted into the structure. I spoke with Erlich post-dive about this surreal installation—an artwork that symbolizes the climate crisis and the absurdity of environmental destruction.
Maureen Sullivan: Typically, if you see a car—or, in this case, 22 cars—sunk to the bottom of a body of water, there’s been a tragedy. But with this installation, you’ve taken the environmentally unfriendly symbol of the car and made it a force for good, successfully marrying dystopian imagery with ecological hope.
Leandro Erlich: Perhaps without being entirely dystopian, there is a correlation between our actions and the tensions we create in relation to the planet. A car sunk to the bottom of the ocean is a dystopian image. Anything made by humans at the bottom of the ocean has an inherent drama to it, like a shipwreck or Atlantis.
We deployed the cars into the ocean in November, and a month later, they are already being transformed. It happened faster than I imagined. Potentially, in a year’s time, we will not be able to see any details of the cars. We would see a volume or a mound but wouldn’t be able to identify the shape.
This is a very peculiar project. REEFLINE is not only about environmental concerns; we are creating something new. It is a collaboration with nature and a hybrid garden. Early on, when I dived to the installation, I saw the cars already covered by algae and stones. I also saw fish swimming through the alleys of the cars and living in hidden spots under the car and in the wheels. I thought, “Okay, I’m seeing a lot of fish here, but there are a lot of fish in the ocean anyway.” I then swam about 30 or 40 feet away from the installation, and I didn’t see any fish. It was very moving to see the audience—the creatures—claiming the installation and using it to hide and thrive.
MS: For this project to be considered a success, the cars will be overtaken by coral, and as you said, their original structural form will morph and become unrecognizable. I was thinking about your work in relation to ideas of permanence and impermanence and Land Art icons such as Robert Smithson’s Spiral Jetty (1970),which is submerged and re-emerges, and Michael Heizer’s Double Negative (1969). Both have largely been left to natural cycles of entropy—though occasional conservation efforts protect them from drilling or being filled in by boulders. Your work, however, is intended to surrender to nature and shape-shift. That’s a very new experience in your work.
LE: Order of Importance’s construction in sand was fragile and ephemeral, but this traffic jam, built in concrete, will also disappear—though not in the same way, and not because of the material. This project expresses the desire to give itself to the order of nature and to disappear, humbly. That’s its purpose. The idea of permanence and transcendence, in relation to what we build, is a very interesting issue to me.
MS: Naturally, some have questioned the money allocated to REEFLINE—the master plan has a $48 million budget—and its scientific merits. Money aside, I take issue with that criticism. I’ve always appreciated that artists have the ability to approach important issues sideways; when people tune out of the news, art can re-engage interest and dialogue—even if it doesn’t necessarily provide solutions. Though with Concrete Coral you’re doing that, too.
LE: I am someone who is interested in developing or triggering a conversation. When we are trying to address something, it’s essential to not do it in a confrontational way, but to try to explore through poetry and creativity.
I would say there is a polysemic aspect to my work—there is no single way to read or interpret it. In the field of art, unlike science, there’s the power of subjectivity. The cars, both as a sandcastle and as concrete forms sunk in the ocean, relate to issues of the environment as well as human construction. Architecture is one of the strongest physical manifestations of our presence on the planet. Through functional forms and humanity’s relationship to the environment, we can create situations that shift perception.
MS: In what’s probably your best-known work, Swimming Pool, there is the illusion of inversion, walking completely dry under water. This installation, however, can’t be experienced without getting wet. It excels as a site-specific work, bringing together the greatest joy of Miami—swimming in the ocean—with art that addresses local and universal environmental issues.
LE: The project activates many layers. There’s no reef to dive to in Miami Beach anymore—you have to go to the Keys. So, this installation creates environmental awareness and expands adventurous activities in Miami. Like Swimming Pool, it creates a new experience.
MS: I’m certified to dive, so I could see Concrete Coral and its impact up close. When snorkeling, you’re a bit of a voyeur; but when diving, you’re part of the sea world. It’s usually silent underwater—we can only hear our own breathing—but I recently read an article about scientists working to capture and re-create the natural soundscape of coral reefs in order to reactivate the corals and attract fish.
LE: That’s fascinating. And it’s great that you managed to dive because it is definitely a different experience than snorkeling. Soon the coral that’s growing in the lab will be planted on the cars, so we’ll see what happens then.
MS: In the promotional materials, the coral appears very colorful, but I understand that the original coral will be sea grasses in keeping with what was previously native. Did you have any involvement in choosing the coral?
LE: We created the rendering at the beginning of the project, five years ago, and I was not fully knowledgeable about the type of coral. Colin Foord [REEFLINE’s marine biologist and an artist] is the expert, and I leave all things coral to him. He is growing soft corals in the lab now and will transfer them to the cars this winter. They are muted in color, but more variety is planned as the project develops.
MS: Over the extensive period of time you spent working on this project, what has been the most interesting thing you learned about reefs, coral, or even government bureaucracy and permitting?
LE: This has been a huge experiment and adventure. The planning, bureaucracy, science, and technical elements are all part of the project itself. From my experience, it’s not easy to get permits even for temporary projects in public space. The fact that we were able to create something outside of art world boundaries—museums, art centers, galleries, and art fairs—and generate so much interest and a new experience is very exciting.
Public art doesn’t have the same freedom as inside a museum, where you can show anything you want. I mean, you can’t install a lot of Paul McCarthy’s sculpture in Central Park. But it’s very rewarding to reach a wide audience that doesn’t know me or my work. It’s another type of encounter.
MS: I understand there was some initial resistance, including from surfers and others, but as people learned more about REEFLINE, it won some of them over.
LE: The story is larger than us. I mean, the work will disappear. And I look forward to not seeing the cars anymore when it gives itself to nature. Art itself is subjective—whether or not you like cars or abstract, figurative, or expressionist painting. But in this case, I think that there’s something quite objective, as this new kind of garden will be guided by the laws of nature. We initiated something, and it’s just the start.
MS: I was thinking about the first encounter I had with your work in public space—Window and Ladder–Too Late for Help (2008), created for Prospect.1 in the Lower Ninth Ward of New Orleans. It represented an escape that many people wished they had from Hurricane Katrina and a symbol of hope. You are again taking something with negative connotations and transforming it into something beautiful and useful. Do you feel a connection between these two works?
LE: I’m almost in tears by what you’re saying, because it’s a deep reading of my nature—of the way I hope and the way I see things. That’s my aspiration. I am someone who always likes to strike a balance—to create something positive and uplifting, but to be critical at the same time.
Concrete Coral is on permanent view as part of REEFLINE. For access information, click here.
