When the legendary sculptor Isamu Noguchi was tapped to redesign a blighted public park in Miami, he conceived of the project as a village green—a place where the community would gather with purpose, rather than just a manicured lawn.
Originally built in 1925 after three years of construction, the park had fallen into complete disrepair by the time Noguchi was approached. After all, Miami in the 1980s was one of the US’s most problematic cities; the arrival of Cuban immigrants during the Mariel exodus—when Fidel Castro famously released imprisoned men as a slight to the US—coincided with a wave of crime in the city. It was an era when the so-called Cocaine Cowboys reigned, and poverty and bloodshed were rampant. Downtown Miami, where the park is located, had become one of the most derelict and dangerous areas in the city, and a revitalisation was sorely needed.
Noguchi’s first move was to persuade the city to remove a library building that was obstructing views of the bay. The visual connection between land and water would be the driving principle behind Noguchi’s Bayfront Park. His design incorporated sculptural elements that functioned as sites of play, an open-air amphitheatre and a fountain capping off a large promenade. Though Noguchi died in 1988, before he could finish the park, his longtime collaborator Shoji Sadao saw it through to completion in 1996.
Today, Bayfront Park is a destination for music and culture for Miamians and visitors alike. Karina Ors, a director at the gallery Nina Johnson, explains why she holds the park so close to her heart.
At the centre of the park sits a Noguchi-designed fountain, which was restored early this year Courtesy of the city of Miami
The Art Newspaper: How did you first learn that Isamu Noguchi had designed Bayfront Park, and what do you know about the commission and design process?
Karina Ors: I found out that Noguchi designed Bayfront Park a few years ago, almost by accident, while I was researching public art and landscape architecture in Miami. I was delighted to realise that one of his major works had been part of my everyday landscape my whole life. It instantly changed the way I saw the park, because I’ve long admired Noguchi’s work—his ability to create spaces that feel both grounded and transcendent, where sculpture becomes environment.
Why are you drawn to Noguchi’s work?
His path as an artist has always fascinated me. Early in his career, Noguchi worked in Constantin Brâncuși’s studio in Paris, where he absorbed a new way of thinking about form—modern, abstract and deeply spiritual. From then on, his work became a lifelong exploration of balance and presence. Across his public projects, from playgrounds to plazas and gardens, he held onto a belief that sculpture should shape how we move, gather and connect.
My first encounter with Noguchi’s work was actually in New York, at Rockefeller Center, where his News sculpture created for the Associated Press Building in 1940 had always fascinated me. And once I moved there in my 20s, his work started to reveal itself to me, eventually becoming a favourite of mine. Learning later that he carried that same belief that sculpture could serve society into the design of Bayfront Park made the discovery feel even more personal.
A light tower is one of several pieces that Noguchi designed for Bayfront Park Courtesy of the city of Miami
How did he approach the creation of Bayfront Park?
When Noguchi was brought in during the early 1980s, Bayfront Park had lost its spirit. It had become neglected and underused. I remember coming across an old New York Times article while I was going down the Noguchi rabbit hole; it described the park as “once a civic showcase that declined into a hangout for derelicts”, and how his redesign was intended to bring new life to downtown Miami. At the same time, the city was booming, new high-rises were reshaping the skyline, and Noguchi’s design gave that energy a place to land, somewhere that felt open, green and connected to the desire for people to have a place to disconnect and contemplate.
He envisioned the park as something to be experienced rather than observed, a landscape of movement, openness, and quiet reflection. There’s the amphitheatre, the Claude Pepper Fountain, the light tower and, later, the Challenger Memorial. Noguchi passed away before it was finished, but his longtime collaborator Shoji Sadao completed the project and helped bring Slide Mantra, the white marble sculpture from the Venice Biennale in 1986—my favourite—to Miami.
What is your personal connection to Bayfront Park?
I was born and raised in Miami, and Bayfront Park has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. I loved going to the annual Bob Marley Natural Mystic Festival at the amphitheatre. That was my first real encounter with the park. I remember the music echoing across the water, the light on the bay, the air heavy with salt and humidity (and smoke from other natural elements). I didn’t think of it as a designed space then; it was simply a place where people came together. Years later, when I discovered that Noguchi had designed it, I began to understand it differently. Suddenly, this place I would go to for concerts also revealed itself as something deeply intentional.
• Bayfront Park, 301 Biscayne Boulevard, Miami
