Block tower

The radical conceptual artist had a dream of building Russian architect Vladimir Tatlin's tower, the never-before constructed monument to the communist revolution, from the detritus of wrecked houses from the Block.

After he explained his concept to the indigenous locals they voiced their scepticism strongly.

One woman put it simply.

"We tell stories with this," she said, gesturing to her mouth, "not with that", pointing to the designs.

The meeting proved to be a fruitful exchange of ideas and, eventually, the young artist won their trust and support. "They basically said 'we'll be fair if you be fair'," he says, "so there was scepticism, but also a willingness to help."

Rakowitz's leap into the unknown is just one example of the chances taken by artists who have made new works for the Biennale.

In many instances this year, people, rather than pieces, were selected.

Once chosen, artists such as Rakowitz were given a free range to come up with any idea and to pull it off by opening night. Luckily, the Chicago artist's willingness to take risks and absorb criticism has paid off.

Three months later, the tower, called White Man's Got No Dreaming, has been built. It's a grand modernist design: an eight-metre-high cone of weathered timber planks that lurch towards the sky with a spiral made from tangled wire encircling the outside.

He was helped in the construction by architects and builders working on a visionary building project of another sort, the Pemulwuy Project, the proposed plan for redevelopment of the Block.

Rakowitz has plenty of experience in risky design projects that engage with social and political ideas.

His best known work is paraSITE, a series of warm inflatable tents custom-built for the homeless in Boston, New York and in Cambridge, Massachusetts, which attach to hot air vents.

That project also thrived after discussion. Rakowitz showed his prototype designs to Cambridge's homeless men. He'd made them from black garbage bags but the men told him using black was a mistake.

"They said 'make it translucent, bring us out into the middle of the street, where people can't just hold us in their periphery'," he says.

The artist values these project-altering encounters. "In that instance I needed to be corrected," he says. "Those are not necessarily comfortable episodes but they're essential."

A willingness to take risks has also been integral to Norwegian artistic duo aiPotu's piece Boomerang Boat.

In the weeks leading up to the Biennale, Andreas Siqueland and Anders Kjellesvik have been building Boomerang Boat, which is a rowboat in the shape of the Aboriginal tool.

Before building started, Siqueland admitted they were nervous.

"We're not experienced boatbuilders," he says, "but we're quite confident it's going to work."

The festival's chief executive, Marah Braye, is delighted these artists are engaging with Australian ideas.

"The Biennale has always been about cultural dialogue," she says, "but [the artists are] not encouraged to do something 'Australian'. When it happens it is serendipitous."

By the time Rakowitz's tower was unveiled in the foyer of the Art Gallery of NSW at Wednesday's Biennale opening, it had already spent a week at the Redfern Community Centre.

Alongside it was a series of drawings telling parallel stories of the architect and the Block, such as the common link of boxing, the beloved sport of both the architect and the Redfern community.

Rakowitz says his meeting with the local community helped him develop this linking aspect of the work and he is glad they had the chance to see it first.

"It's important to me that it gets shown for the first time in the place that inspired it," Rakowitz says.

Photo: Ben Rushton - Artist Michael Rakowitz pictured with his sculpture entitled White Men Got No Dreaming.