Our troubled epoch seeks to discern in the art of savages not only the expression of another world, but also that of those monsters of the sea-depths which psychoanalysis fishes for with subtle net - and politics or war, with dynamite. Like the Chinese or the "noble savage" of the 18th century, our Primitives step forth obligingly, when called from their retreats. But J.J. Rousseau had not the slightest wish to become a Tahitian, or Diderot a Chinese, or Montesquieu a Persian; they merely wished to annex the wonders and wisdom of these exotic creations of their fancy, and invited them to arraign "civilization," not with a view to destroying, but perfecting it.

- André Malraux
Voices of Silence

We have called primitive man forth from his retreat, reclothed him as a Noble Savage, taught him to carve the sort of art we like, & hired him to dance for us at lunch.

This tiny village on the Sepik has been signed up by a travel agency. A chorus line of ancient crones with withered tits & grass skirts, two bald & all bored, shuffle back & forth in front of eleven tourists who sit in aluminum lawn chairs, eating lunch from plastic boxes. One tourist, with pith helmet & safari jacket complete with Explorers' Club insignia, is taking notes. "Aren't you eating?" asks a companion. "No," he replies, "I haven't had a bowel movement in three days." It turns out none of the others have either.

In the world of electronic technology, we humbly encounter the primitive as avant-garde. Americans, Englishmen, Spaniards, Italians, Japanese flock to the Sepik, board palatial houseboats and, drink in hand, solemnly view savages on the hoof. This search for the primitive is surely one of the most remarkable features of our age. It's as if we feared we had carried too far our experiment in rationalism, but wouldn't admit it & so we called forth other cultures in exotic & disguised forms to administer all those experiences suppressed among us. But those we have summoned are generally ill-suited by tradition & temperament to play the role of alter ego for us. So we recast them accordingly, costuming them in the missing parts of our psyches & expecting them to satisfy our secret needs.

Since he was first contacted by the West, primitive man has been forced to serve his conqueror's many needs, not the least of these being aesthetic. In New Guinea, the time element is so condensed that collectors of primitive art can, in comfort, penetrate prehistory, arriving with gin & tonic in hand. Both banks of the Middle Sepik are now lined with workshops where tourist art is turned out en masse. One mission has a huge antiquing area. Posh safari boats with staterooms, bars & showers pass each other on the river, filled with art collectors, psychiatrists, photographers, etc. all anxious to meet Stone Age man face-to-face, collect his art, hear him sing & do all this without discomfort or delay.

Those who can't make the trip aren't denied. This same art is exported to American department stores & museums. One museum displays New Guinea tourist art, but keeps fine authentic pieces in storage. Curators & public, knowing New Guinea through the media, distrust the genuine.

The most popular New Guinea carvings sold in America are crude Maprik figures of nude males with birds on their heads (thus combining primitivism, sex & religion). Figures with erect penises are especially popular. One Los Angeles department store, unable to sell figures with dangling penises, donated them to local universities.