Francesco Simeti: A seahorse, a caravel and large quantities of concrete...

The Vizcaya is a massive 'Italian Baroque' villa with ten acres of formal gardens, at once notably displaced and more than a little at home in central Miami. After all, this city's mascot could be a restored art deco home, a bankrupt luxury high-rise, or the Versace logo, and no one could claim inaccuracy. In its failure to make absolute sense in Miami, The Vizcaya makes absolute sense in Miami.

From its realization in 1916, The Vizcaya served as the winter residence of its mastermind, American industrialist James Deering, who died in 1925. In his nine years at Vizcaya, Deering filled the property with a large live-in staff, regal and Napoleonic design nods, marble floors, harps, dulcimers, infinite signs of grandeur and, I imagine, more than a few delusions of it. Today, as a National Historic Landmark, The Vizcaya is a tourist attraction and a symbol of both great achievement and great excess — a good stage for a reinterpretation of Macbeth. Just think what must be hiding in those closets. Or, let artist Francesco Simeti save you the trouble.

Commissioned by the Vizcaya Museum and Gardens Contemporary Arts Project to create a site-specific work, Simeti, who splits his base between Brooklyn and Sicily, took to Deering's closets and storage spaces, and dragged out the skeletons — among them, white gloves, Neoclassical screens, and the stone peacocks that once topped elaborate spiral columns alongside Deering's pool. In a dark corner room of the Main House, Simeti arranges these 'found objects' as if they're still lost. It takes time for the eyes to adjust in this exhibition room, illuminated only by the faint flickers of a slideshow, which depicts historical photographs of Vizcaya's construction. But when the eyes do adjust (after the copious light and shining bling of previous stops along the way), there is no room for them to rest. Francesco has recreated the feeling of a storage space, it seems, a deliberately cluttered foil to the immaculate order of its surrounding.

By nature of showcase homes, by nature of tourist attractions and landmarks, public eyes aren't meant to see private messes, but here they are: public eyes in a dark room, trying to read this Villa's diary, though the pages seem to be out of order. Paper guides are made available to viewers aware of Simeti's exhibition; these guides outline some of the larger objects found in this 'dusty' show space. For example, we read that the Chinese opium bowls date to the 19th century, and were "placed as decoration throughout the house.' We find out that 'The Seahorse," was "designed and executed in copper by Samuel Yellin [1885-1940], a famous metalwork artist based in Philadelphia." In short, we find out fragments about fragments. The faint slideshow of a building's origins only stresses the sense of mortality and vulnerability underlying throughout. Life goes on, buildings crumble, personal 'empires' crumble, bodies decay, and riches gather dust in storage. As for the people who came to see the Vizcaya for the pomp and gardens, not thinking to pick up a Simeti pamphlet — well, they might miss (or dismiss) this room altogether. Such a snub only plays into the greater significance of the exhibition, of course. For others, the room will serve as a surprise, or perhaps even a slightly unnerving comfort, the kind provided by a shabby La-Z-Boy in a room of stiff wooden chairs.

Simeti's artwork at the Vizcaya extends out of the Main House and into the gardens, where the artist has transformed one of the outdoor fountains into 'a surreal theatrical set.' A seahorse, an alligator, a caravel, lilies, a peacock, a dragon, among other literal and symbolic references to the Vizcaya — all white, dwarfed by the size of the fountain and the opulence adjacent — float with a marked apathy and lack of direction. In an interview with Flaminia Gennari-Santori, Vizcaya's Deputy Director for Collections and Curatorial Affairs, Simeti says his water installation was inspired by 'automata': "the mechanical apparatuses that simulated natural phenomena in European Renaissance and Baroque Gardens." He also alludes to the sight of garbage floating in the ocean, heartbreaking as such a sight may be. To me, the floating objects look like the unassembled toys inside a chocolate Kinder Surprise egg: fragile, unfinished, their inevitable ruin evident from the moment they 'hatch.' Manipulated by Simeti, this fountain speaks to disappointment and the state of finding oneself (or one's objects) obsolete. At the same time, it pokes fun at such heavy-handed readings of heaviness. Quite successfully, Simeti's works at Vizcaya set a trap for the viewer: Somewhere between comfort and uneasiness, gravity and marked triviality. The viewer can't help but wonder why, when the eyes can have their fill of 'all you can eat' order and beauty, they choose, instead, to devour the broken, discarded, and ambiguous.

Until 21 May
Francesco Simeti: A seahorse, a caravel and large quantities of concrete, stone, fill, topsoil, tiles, piping, trees and other plants.
Vizcaya Museum and Gardens'
3251 South Miami Avenue, Miami