Every artist’s work unless he be a hermit, creating solely for his own satisfaction and with on need of sales, is to some extent ‘socially conditioned’, He depends upon the approval of his patrons. Social conditioning is of course part of the field of study of the social anthropologist, yet I am not aware that the social conditioning of artists has ever been seriously studied. That such study is needed for the proper appraisal of traditional African art is evident enough when we note the ingenuous assumption, current in many writing on the subject, that the carver’s hand is so closely controlled by the custom of centuries that the credit for any creative imagination which is apparent in his work is due not to him but to the long succession of his predecessors. Of course, there is an element of truth in this view of the tribal as copyist; but it is hardly more valid for the Africa than for the European artist. In both cases the work of art is the outcome of a dialectic between the informing tradition and the individual genius of the artist, and in both the relative strength of these two forces may vary almost infinitely. To assess the personal ingredient in an African carving is no easy matter, especially if one is confronted with a rare or unique piece in an unfamiliar style; but the considerations involved are much the same as those employed in European art criticism.

One day, Alan, a friend of mine, who likes country life, was fishing in a river, when he caught a trout. He tried to put fish in but it slipped off the hook, flew over his head and landed in a field behind him.
Alan put down his rod, went through the gate and started searching for his trout. Some people, obviously from the city were having a picnic in the field. One of the men shouted. ‘What on earth are you doing? Thinking that it was a silly question because they could see how hews dressed, Alan replied ‘Fishing’.
‘Don’t be silly, the fish are down in the river’, answered the man, ‘Fish don’t live fields! He turned to his friends, laughing, thinking that he had made a good joke.
Oh, but they do, ‘said Alan, They jump out of the river to look for flies and I catch them with my hands. At that moment he found his trout in the grass and picked it up and showed it to the picnickers. He put it in his basket and bent down, as if he was hunting for another one. The picnickers, no longer laughing, spent the rest of the day searching the field.