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TO HELL WITH EVERYTHING (except pets)

: DAVID SHRIGLEY

Here we have David Shrigley. Artist. ~197 cm tall. This is how he has chosen to describe himself for as long as he can remember. Everything else is a complete surprise. Now in his 50s, Shrigley has a few things to say to you. ‘This isn’t chaos. If you think this is chaos, then keep on waiting. Won’t be long now...’ Enjoy your trip.

INTERVIEW BY MERVE ARKUNLAR & ARTHUR SAVILE 

ARTWORKS BY DAVID SHRIGLEY

 

His means are varied and, rest assured, he will manage to get under your skin. It is hard not to be mesmerised by this master of fatuity. His narrative is as nonsensical as our lives. We are talking about a sniper camouflaged by his apparently lackadaisical commentary. It is true that there is always a dose of captivating, nimble-minded humour in David Shrigley’s work. His observations, though seemingly nonsensical, are universally pithy and piquant. These vignettes look the way that they do just because Shrigley made them and will continue to do so with utter disregard. I think many aspects of Shrigley’s authenticity are concealed in this sentence – not caring a tuppence, resisting, creating, creating and creating some more...

 

The artist believes in solitude rather than following the herd. He also has been and always will be someone who swims against the current. You would expect to hear Shrigley talk about choices and sticking to your decisions. He dislikes being sought after; he would rather be on his own, not having to think of anything but his art...
 

It is hard not to feel captivated by David Shrigley’s calm tone of voice and his train of thought. It must be the nonchalance that stems from not giving a toss about what anyone says. He has never wandered off the path he believes in; he has a masterful command of the English language and is an exceptional observer. He is certain about one thing: We have no need for solicitude.
 

Prepare for take-off.

Since you frequently visit and dwell on concepts such as context and misunderstanding, as well as irony, circularity and paradox, I believe that this would be a great chance to discuss the ‘new normal’ with you, the constant chaos we have picked as our theme for this issue. How was 2020 for you?


I am very lucky – I still make a living. I’m still making my work. There are a lot of things that I am not doing that I would like to do. Obviously, that’s everybody’s experience. There are also a few things I didn’t really like doing, [that] I don’t have to do right now... travelling, being away from home a lot, so that’s kind of a good thing. It’s been a very productive time, because I realised that I used to travel an awful lot –you don’t get a lot done when you are travelling. When you are younger, you enjoy travel, aeroplanes, foreign countries, foreign cities... but, after a certain point, you get bored of it. So, I think I have reached that stage of my life where I don’t want to travel so much. That’s been really good – positive, in that respect. But I like to do social things, which you can’t do.
The difficulty of lockdown is, I don’t think that any of us really realised how we felt about it until after it finished. I don’t think you really know that you went a bit crazy, until
you stop being crazy. [Laughs] I think I am sort of waiting for the retrospect, in a way.
Obviously, it’s a bad thing – because we are social animals. We need other people around and if you are deprived of the company of other people, then it makes you un- happy, ultimately. I think the extent to which we have been unhappy will not become apparent until it is over.
In some ways it is more difficult when the end is in sight. Last year, when nobody knew what was going to happen, everybody was quite anxious about it, whereas now we know roughly what will happen, but we are not quite sure exactly of the timing, which makes it more difficult to get through.
 

In previous issues of 212, we have discussed concepts that humanity struggles to deal with, such as ‘Future Shock’ and the ‘Seventh Continent’. Last year set a new record for online shopping sales. What are your thoughts on the irony here, of the mess we have created for ourselves and our unwillingness to change our behaviour?


I oscillate between despair and optimism, in terms of the state of the planet, the state of politics in the UK, for example, and in other parts of the world. The thing that I have realised is, in some ways, you have a choice.
My ability to affect any change is negligible and I think the only way that you can make change happen, is by only really having one project, in a way, to change the world... And even then, you can change your own little bit of the world. You have to start somewhere. The revelation that I’ve had recently is that I think it is better not to be overwhelmed by the climate crisis, by the rise of right-wing politics, by the problem of the sustainability of the human race and our imminent demise.

Just try to focus on what you can do to make a positive change. So, I just sort of decided that. In a way, it was sort of informed by how, at the beginning of the pandemic, everybody was asking for charitable donations to help that cause, this cause and the other cause. It seemed almost as if it was a therapeutic activity for people setting up those initiatives. It was like, ‘I’ve just gotta help somehow! Do something!’ It seemed really counter-productive, in a lot of ways.

 

As an artist, you also talk about how people have to have creative components in their lives, to keep going. In one of your YouTube videos, Seriously Happy, you mentioned how your works has a positive effect on people with mental health problems. In one of your works you claim that: ‘Art cannot live out of the human body’. How do you reconcile this with our current mindset, amidst the closures of cultural institutions and the losses of many jobs in the arts sector?

 

I don’t really have a solution to the funding problem. I can only talk about the country in which I live, but I am sure it is very similar in lots of different places.

I think the most important thing to realise is the value of art. It is valuable for people to have museums and art galleries and to experience art – but it is also valuable for people to make art. It is important for it to be part of education, for our children, but also it should be a component for everybody’s lives, so they have something creative that they can do.

It seems that there are various things that dissuade people from doing that throughout their lives – and often, when they might start to make art or engage with the arts in general, it is of immense benefit to their health and wellbeing. If we realise that, then the prioritising of funding, on a state or city level, we will value this thing and not have to constantly try to convince governments that they are valuable things to fund. 

Because, in a neo-Capitalist society, what is the value of art? Why should we fund
the arts? And the answer to that question is, ‘Because they are good for people’s health
and wellbeing’.

The arts are good for other things as well – museums and galleries can really trans- form the economy of towns and cities. They’re very valuable, in that regard, but you need to have the imagination to see that. But, if you invest in people – and people’s health and wellbeing – that makes financial sense. For example, adult poverty and inequality are not very good for the economy.

People think, ‘Why should we pay more taxes and try to help people who are in difficult financial situations?’ The reason for that is because, if you do not help them, you end up paying more money – you will have to pay more for the police and for additional health services to sort out the need that poverty creates for society. Conversely, if you help those people to be healthy and happy as well, they are more productive as citizens – and the arts are a huge component of that.
But, there are a lot of people with a lot of money who, even despite the evidence to the contrary, believe that you should not fund those things.

Since the early 90s, you have dwelt on the edge of the art scene – making your own decisions and choices, yet also benefitting from your association with it. What do you think of the current condition of the art scene?


I am not really an ‘art scene’ person. I don’t really have an answer to that question, I guess.
I used to live in Glasgow, in Scotland and moved to the south of England, five or six years ago. I realised, when I left Glasgow, which has a very well-known contemporary art scene – not necessarily any particularly interesting galleries or museums, but a lot of artists are practising there and the art school is connected with that. So there’s a very vibrant art scene and quite a lot of very well-known British artists live in Glasgow – and I guess I was one of them. But, it wasn’t till I left that I actually had some perspective on what that was and how remarkable it was. But also, what one perceives as the ‘art world’ is really just your immediate experience of it – the people I knew, the galleries I showed at.
I lived in and still have a house in Brighton, which is kind of where I am based and where my studio is. Brighton doesn’t really have an art scene, it’s quite close to London – you can be there in less than an hour, on the train. So, it’s kind of a satellite city for people who work in London –So it was very different, in that respect. Just by moving there I became the most famous artist in Brighton, which is quite strange. But then I realised that there were still people that were making art. There was a completely different art scene there – people who design tattoos and really like Banksy. 

Sometimes you meet people and they say, ‘Would you like to be involved in this project?’ They reel off names of artists and you have never heard of any of them. Why is that? 

The art world that I am familiar with is that of Art Basel, for example, Frieze Magazine, etc. I kind of know a bit about that, but in a way, all of these things are sort of like a business network. They’re not really anything to do with art, making art or talking about it. Increasingly, I don’t have to know anything about that stuff – I just have a relationship with the people I make exhibitions with and sell artwork with – and that’s it. I don’t have to do anything else, or think about anything else.
The only time when my life gets affected by the art world is when I have to go to Art Basel, once every three years, where I might have to do a talk or install an exhibition, or something. Or if I have to go to a museum, to do an exhibition – and likewise, I sit in the office of the museum reading through the art magazines and think, ‘Oh, well that’s what’s happening in the art world...’

And that is basically my experience of it – all I know about is my art world. But, really, there are lots of people making art who don’t really have any interaction with that world – that kind of expensive, glass of champagne, openings, grey carpet at wherever it is that Art Basel is held.
What does that mean? It’s like, when you go to New York City, for example, in Chelsea, you have all of the art world. Between 20th Street and 24th Street are all the fancy galleries... and, as you go further up, you get to around 27th Street – there are all these galleries that you’ve never heard of, with all these artists that you’ve never heard of... and if you go even further up and there are all these other galleries, where what they are selling bears no relation to the ‘art world’, up on 20th Street.
So, the art world is a bit like that – peripheral and you get into these other art worlds, where people might have heard of Andy Warhol, but they don’t read the art magazines and their art world, and indeed their business model, is just about selling a landscape painting to some rich person who lives in the Upper West Side. So there are lots of different perceptions of what art is and it has taken me a while to realise that, I suppose because I’m a bit of an insider. Being an insider is, in a way, like being a bit of an outsider, because you can’t really see the art world as a whole. For example, Banksy – who is probably the most famous artist in the world, at the moment – comes from a world that is completely other than the world we’re talking about, that of 20-24th Streets in Manhattan. He interacts with a group of artists who are completely out with that thing, yet in financial terms, he is the most marketable artist that’s there. It’s interesting, but that’s a very recent phenomenon – go back ten years and it was Damien Hirst, as a British artist who had been to art school, etc. Does that mean that the art world has changed? I don’t really know. My perception of it has changed, that’s for sure.


How do you react to all the digital implementation that has quickly taken place, throughout this year, at museums and institutions?

 

Well, it’s definitely become very important to me – it became particularly important during the Pandemic. For museums and galleries, their online content has become massively important. It’s quite good for me, because I normally do my work on paper and they’re quite good for that. A lot of the time, it doesn’t really matter whether I have an exhibition or not, in terms of selling the work, because the gallery will send images and it’s fairly well represented, digitally. It’s not the same for people who make sculptural work and installation, etc. I work with a few different galleries and institutions.

Some people are playing catch-up and sometimes it seems like museums and galleries are doing this because they have to – they don’t really understand it or want to do it, it’s just in place of what they would otherwise do. But if you’re in a situation where you have always embraced the online world, in terms of art, in terms of your output as an institution, then you understand the language of the online world and can make films and other content, understanding its importance.

 

What do you think about the digitalisation of the artist world, but also the art world? What is your place in the digitalised art world?

 

Ten years ago, I started publishing my books with a bigger publisher, still an independent publisher, but prior to that, I was working with a tiny publisher – just one guy in an office, which suited me, but then it was time to move on and do something bigger with wider distribution. So, I moved to this big publisher and they asked me, ‘Do you do social media?’ This was really Facebook and Twitter, at that time. They said, ‘You should do it. You don’t have it, if you don’t want to, but it really helps. It’s a marketing tool and we’re investing money in your book, so we need to try and sell it. Obviously, you get money from that, so just do it.’
So, I said I would do it and looked at a little YouTube video as to why social media is important (this was in 2010). So, I started with Facebook and Twitter, but I didn’t know why I was doing it – I just did it because I was told to. I thought it was about having a presence there and that it would be necessary from now on. Online presence is necessary I guess from now on It was sort of a random dialogue – things like pictures of my dog.
Fast-forward to Instagram which became more the thing for visual artists, I guess – more than anything else. It’s probably the biggest platform nowadays.
At the end of 2017, I started to have a full-time assistant for the first time. I really needed it. I was struggling in the studio on my own. This young woman came to work with me to do administrative stuff, more than anything else. Because she was about 25, she was telling me, ‘I like how you do this, and don’t like how you do that. Don’t put pictures of your dog on Instagram’.
I started to change little by little and it became just artwork. No explanation, just an artwork everyday. And then she was like, ‘That’s good. That’s what you should do.’ And she started saying, ‘Well, I look at the comments on your thing. You’d better not put up those images. Do this and do that. I was trained a bit by this younger person who worked for me. Now I realise that, before, I was kind of thinking of how, on Instagram, I would just put out the peripheral things – the things that wouldn’t be published, because otherwise people won’t buy my book. Whereas now, I put everything on Instagram, especially the things that I think are the best – because Instagram became the publishing platform. It is way more important than the book now. Whilst I still enjoy making books, it’s as if the book is there as a marketing tool for the Instagram account.

 

How about your process of elimination, do you start with maybe 100 works
and then reduce that to 80 or 90? Do you publish any works on Instagram that
wouldn’t be exhibited or featured in one of your books?


I still edit my own work. Certain things, I don’t care whether other people like them – I don’t like them and they’re going in the bin! I’ve also started to let other people edit the work for me, because I’ve realised that the editorial process is really random. The way that I do it is so crazily subjective that it’s not really helpful. I realised a few years ago that, when you’re working with a commercial gallery– and as I work with art on paper – basically, that’s what pays the mortgage and the bills. I don’t have to have a job, if I sell artwork. The gallery will send you a list of the paintings that they still have and you look through a PDF and you see how, out of 30 paintings, maybe 15 have sold. I remember making the decision on those – out of maybe a hundred drawings, these 30 are perfect... and the five of them that are just the best, they will go in my archive of works that I consider to be the best things that I have made. So five out of a hundred are really good... and two of those are so good that I’ll only make maybe 70 of those in my lifetime, because that’s the best work I’ve ever made. You look through the PDF and find that none of the five works of genius have sold – certainly, the two brilliant ones, nobody wants them! If you fast forward five years, they still won’t have sold. And then I realised, why am I editing them? I mean, it’s a collaboration, to an extent, but the idea is that we sell work and we can do what we love and I don’t have to get a proper job.
So, I’ll take out the ones that I hate, that went wrong somehow and I’ll give them maybe 80 or 90 to choose the 30 from... and the ones they choose are the ones with cats and dogs in them, basically [laughs]. So, if there’s a cat or a dog in it, it’s sold! I mean, I am an animal lover and I became a vegetarian a few years ago. I live in the countryside now, so animals have become part of my world... but I have delegated that process and I know that the most brilliant work that I do today will not be chosen, nor will it be liked on Instagram either. It will get a fraction of the likes that a picture of a cat will get – what are you going to do about that? 

It is interesting though – Instagram is a great tool to find out how divergent your tastes are from the world. How peculiar!
 

Do you use your data from Instagram? Has this changed your work at all?

 

I do a bit of that. For example, I did some T-shirts with a fashion company, just recently, and they were all men’s. I told them that two-thirds of the people following me were women. They said, ‘We know that, but women just buy men’s T-shirts anyway.’ But how interesting is it? In a way, you’re starting to gain knowledge that you didn’t really want. Maybe it helps in terms of business, but in terms of creating my work, knowing my audience didn’t really help, because I think that you only make art for yourself – you have to be your own audience and you have to be critical of it yourself. It’s knowledge that I don’t really know what to do with and I don’t know if it’s really that helpful to me.

Do you still collect found objects? I remember how, in one of your talks you mention that you found a dream diary and you joked that you might make a call one day, saying ‘I have your dream diary!’ and that this would be the ultimate menacing call that somebody could receive. Do you still collect all those?

 

Well, no actually. I had a friend who I was at school with, who worked as the manager of a charity shop in London and he knew that I collected this stuff and would gather it for me. He would send me a big parcel, every few months, of all the stuff that he had found – and then he stopped working there, so it stopped arriving. But I have an archive of probably thousands of pieces of crap that he collected over the years, that I don’t really know what to do with anymore.
I’m not really a collector – think the dream diary thing would be an interesting idea for a movie script or a novel. 

I’m sort of separated from my record collection. In Glasgow, I had friends who ran a record shop and I used to buy a lot of records from them, but I realised that I used to do it just to help them, really – because I wanted to support the shop – and I would play the records once and never listen to them again. So, now I listen to Spotify and I don’t really care... I’m not really interested in ‘stuff ’. I’m interested in making things, but I’m not really interested in collecting or acquiring things. I’ve been making guitars recently – this is my latest guitar! It’s got one knob... this is the only interesting item in my studio, apart from the artwork, obviously.
I’m not a collector: I feel like it’s a weakness, in a way. I get asked to do a lot of media stuff, and it’s often a question people pose, ‘Do you collect things?’ I and I sort of say, ‘No, I never really did’. I collect pebbles from the beach sometimes – I live near a beach. You get pebbles with holes in. The area where I live is called the Jurassic Coast, from the period of prehistory with dinosaurs and stuff, so there are a lot of fossils that you can find on the beach – not that I’ve actually found any. The only ones
I’m interested in are the stones with holes in, so I collect those. People do go back there and I call them ‘holers’ – that’s a name I’ve invented. In our living room area there’s just a big pile of pebbles that me and my wife have collected. In a way, it’s like the things that the dog collects – the dog collects tennis balls and we collect stones.

 

Narrative is really essential in your work. What do you think of the narratives that have been created by new technology?


In terms of people communicating in emojis and things? I think it’s interesting – language is an interesting thing to talk about, to think about how you interact with technology and communicate. Communication is a very interesting thing – I was reading about a linguist, who was saying that emojis constitute a language in themselves. In a way, that’s like a PhD subject – interesting to talk about once. I’m in my fifties now, so when I was a student, there were no mobile phones, there were no computers, no smartphones. The mobile phone didn’t arrive in my life until I was in my thirties and the smartphone has only been around for maybe ten or fifteen years. I think it stems from the experience of being texted all the time and having to have a response to that text... and then there’s WhatsApp and you have to have a response to that… Emojis, for me, are a form of abbreviation. They’re also a form of having to deal with correspondence that you don’t want to deal with. So, people ask you things, the answer to which you don’t want to reveal – so you just send ‘clownface’ or something. The world really changes without us noticing – we adapt to the Pandemic, to Zoom conversations... a year ago, we weren’t doing that. Suddenly this is normal, suddenly this is the way of doing interviews. It’s actually quite a nice way of doing interviews, in a way, because it’s somehow more intimate and easier to prepare for. You don’t mind spending so long doing it, because you can be having a shower and, two minutes later, be doing the Zoom interview – which is not the case in the real world.
I have a notebook for meetings where I just do doodles. They’re maybe not very typical – no words, only abstract. This is a good conversation, because I haven’t really got very far with the art – that’s a good testament to my interest in the conversation!

 

So how do you keep sane? Are there any daily rituals?


Well, that presupposes that I am sane, I suppose – which one can never know… [laughs] until it all goes very wrong! I think art is very helpful, though and having a structure is too. I’m certainly doing things that I didn’t used to do. I’ve tried to be a bit healthier during lockdown, so I’ve been getting a lot more exercise and trying to do a little bit of dieting, to try and keep my weight down, walking the dog, trying to drink less alcohol. So, I have a routine – during the week, I’m very healthy... and then it gets to Friday and I can have a glass of wine... maybe without going for a long walk in the morning. So, yes, my week is quite structured – but I quite like that anyway. I’ve realised I’m quite an introvert, so it doesn’t bother me too much to be at home, just writing in quite a solitary place. But, obviously, I have a partner – I’m married and I have a pet, so I’m not lonely. Also, because I live in the countryside, there are only 200 people who live in our village, so everybody knows everybody and you still kind of interact with people a bit. Obviously, at the moment we don’t go out to people’s houses, nobody goes out of the village – nobody goes anywhere. So, we’re not quite so paranoid about catching the virus. You can go for a walk and stuff, over to somebody’s garden, to have a chat with them. We’re not that isolated, but you sometimes are in the city – if you live in an apartment, it’s much more difficult. When we were in Brighton, for example, it felt a little bit more stressful, because there were more people.


Are you planning to stay in Devon and not return to Brighton?


Yeah, most of the time we’re here. In another couple of months probably things will change a little bit and we’ll be allowed to go back. I have to go back, because I have somebody who works for me, in the studio in Brighton, so I have to take work back sometimes and I have to do little things. I have all my paints with me in this room – all the paintbrushes and things are crammed in right here... into this tiny little room, which isn’t ideal for working in, but it’s good enough... I can do it, and I’m quite happy, in a way. I like the economy of it and then my assistant does all the boring stuff remotely.
But there’s nobody there, except her, so it’s kind of fine – and she lives very close by anyway. So, we’ve found a way to work out – and like I say, we are so lucky, in so many ways, during this lockdown. I have elderly parents, they’ve been OK. They’re still together and are still fairly healthy, so that’s less of a worry. I don’t have kids, so I don’t have to home-school anyone. I’m so fortunate, not to have kids!

Your works have been used as personality litmus tests – I have so many friends who find it really helpful in picking their partners. It’s a relationship goal to find someone who finds you funny and who understands the way David Shrigley does his art. At the same time, you have so many fans who get tattoos of your drawings and statues. How does it feel to have been on the receiving end of so much attention, over the last 20 years? How have your interactions with your fans been? Have they been a source of satisfaction?

 

Well, I don’t know. There’s no etiquette for success, I suppose. Everything just becomes normal after a while – I just don’t think about it, because it is really strange and it is a really curious thing, that anyone would want a tattoo of one of my drawings. Or people tell me that story, that they might present one of my books to a potential boy- friend or girlfriend – and if they like it, they’re in, and if they don’t, they’re out! That’s a great responsibility and I’m glad that I’m not aware of it happening, most of the time. But everything becomes normal after a while and it all became normal about 15 years ago. Now, I can’t remember the time when it wasn’t like that. Because the time before I became successful, as an artist, was 25 years ago. I don’t ever look at the comments on Instagram, because part of my assistant’s job is to look at all this stuff – and she gets the emails from the website and part of her job is to, you know, protect me from people. To protect me from unwanted correspondence or attention.
I don’t really want to think about that. The central pleasure of what I do, and the privilege of it, is really just doing this – it’s art.
The rest of it is just something that happened along the way and I don’t know how to process it. I wouldn’t say that I don’t care – but, it’s interesting. It’s an interesting thing to talk about, when you go around to somebody’s house for dinner... but it’s much more comfortable for me to live in a place like this, where there are 200 people – we all know each other and we all do something different. The conversations I have are about who didn’t pick up their dog poo, or if the postman had parked his van in the wrong place – or if somebody left a sweater on the bench, by the beach. And then, there is the pleasure of making the work – that is the really exciting thing about being an artist, being able to make your work... and also other projects as well, getting to work in different places and having different opportunities. It’s really interesting, but there’s no place for the rest of it in your head. There’s no place for the tattoos – I mean, it’s still fun to talk about, but it’s almost like I’m talking about somebody else. It’s nothing to do with me – it’s their decision, you know, 25-year-old beautiful women, with delicate skin, blemish free... and then they want to put this horrible drawing on their arm – it’s like, ‘Why? Don’t do that...’
I meet people at art events and they say, ‘I want to have this picture that you drew, on my arm’.
But, if you are going to do it, I suppose you might as well have one of my drawings – because, either way, it’s going to look horrible and you’re going to regret it.

 

If you could collaborate with another creator, dead or alive, who would it be and why?


I think the best collaborations are with people who can do stuff that you can’t really do – that have a skill or a facet that you really don’t have. But recently, I’ve done a lot of musical things, so I’ve written songs and lyrics and stuff – and I’m always interested in finding people with a certain voice and actors, as well, I find really fascinating. I don’t really have an ambition to make films as such, but I’m kind of more interested in live performance. There’s a guy who I worked with, in 2005, called Kevin Eldon and he did a voice for an animation that I made called, Who I am and What I Want.
Kevin’s a really talented comic actor and he’s got this brilliant voice and he’s really musical as well. I did a project for the Brighton Festival, two years ago, and I asked him if he would do it – I knew that he wouldn’t, because he’s really busy, has a young family and lives in London, but I guess I’d love to work with him. I’d love to make a musical thing with him and to write some songs and stuff. There are a lot of people out there and to to identify the right person for the thing you have in mind – it’s often an actor and a voice that you’d love to use – that, for me, is really exciting.

In terms of collaborating with artists, I don’t know. In visual art, generally the collaborations that I do are an excuse to hang out with people, really. PR is really just a means, in order to have a conversation and to meet somebody – and to form a friendship with them. But the actual art itself never really seems that important – although sometimes it’s interesting. In terms of actual collaboration, it’s more actors and singers – there are quite a few that I’d like to work with. I don’t know if they’ll want to work with me – I’ll have to keep asking and eventually somebody will say yes.
 

My last question would be this. Describe the word, ‘chaos’


Well, the antonym of chaos is order. Is what we are experiencing now chaos? That’s the question. I don’t think this is that bad. It’s a very grim observation, but yeah this isn’t really that bad. If we acknowledge that this pandemic has something to do with the climate crisis, definitely pandemics are going to be a big, big problem, as a result of this. This is really not that bad. Two million people die – that’s a drop in the ocean, compared to what could happen. So, my answer to that question is: This isn’t chaos. If you think it is, you just wait... as chaos is going to come. Everything becomes normal after a while – chaos becomes order and we adapt to the chaos. Hopefully I will be dead by the time the real chaos happens. This is a preview. A very short preview. Once we get to the feature film, then we need to worry.