I’ve reviewed art in a tuxedo.

I’ve reviewed it in shorts and sneakers.

I’ve reviewed it in a fur hat and snow boots.

But I’ve never before done my critic’s job in wetsuit and flippers.

I’d be tempted to make a habit of it, now, if only I could get our museums to flood.

On a sunny November day off Miami Beach, I went aquatic for the first time to take in Reefline, a new program of underwater public art that has sunk its first project 20 feet below the waves, some 800 feet from shore. For “Concrete Coral,” the Argentine artist Leandro Erlich produced 22 sculptures of automobiles, made from concrete at life size, then had them lined up on the sea floor in a traffic jam 90 feet long.

Floating above those “cars,” diving among them, felt like an almost ideal art experience (minus the occasional gulp of seawater, for this neophyte snorkeler).

Without the distractions of terrestrial art-looking — nearby selfie-takers, grumpy tweens or your own pinging phone — your concentration on the art seems almost automatic. Hardly any sounds reach your ears; the buoyancy of salt water and wet suit makes your physical self nearly disappear. With the surrounding ocean remote and dark, Erlich’s sculptures, seeming spotlighted by the Florida sun, become just about the only thing to take in, letting you contemplate their aesthetics and meanings at leisure.

Do those cars portray a near future when nearby coastal roads get submerged from sea-level rise?

Or a postapocalyptic water-world that has left humans quite behind?

Or maybe a post-car U.S.A. that has seen us drown our rides in favor of less noxious transportation? On my dive, Erlich’s traffic jam seemed already on its way to being reclaimed by nature, with spadefish, angelfish, trigger fish and shark-loving remoras beginning to find a home there.

And all those experiences and readings might be almost irrelevant to the true, full mission of Reefline.