Who Has the Right to ‘Lying Flat’? A Blogpost by Raquel Meseguer Zafe
Image by Paul Samuel White
In this special longer read blog post, we have invited the wonderful Raquel Meseguer Zafe to share some insights into the world of A Crash Course in Cloudspotting as it continues to meet and connect with audiences and participants in deep and meaningful ways around the world. This year has seen the work reimagined as a Radio Play thanks to a collaboration with Mousonturm and a commission from West German Broadcasting (WDR), as well as research in residency with Arts Access Shanghai and Theatre Young Shanghai. In this blogpost you can also read writings from two resters, Alex Wynne Schmiedel and Min Shen.
A Crash Course in Cloudspotting is an intimate audio journey exploring the depths of human connection and the subversive act of lying down. It can be experienced as both a 35 minute audio-led installation or as a 55 minute installation + performance. We have shared the audio work for audiences in the privacy of their own homes as well as in contexts that create bespoke gatherings for the listening. Alongside the public work there is an ever-growing archive of resting stories and regular Cloudspotters’ Cafes.
You can listen to the Audio Recording of the blogpost below.
This year I was invited to gather stories about people’s experiences of resting in public from two different countries, in two different languages, across many cultures. In Germany we partnered with WDR and Mousonturm to invite disabled people living in Germany to share their stories. In Shanghai we partnered with Arts Access Shanghai and Theatre Young to explore Shanghai residents’ experiences of lying down or resting in public. China is where the brutal 996 working hour system was born, a work schedule that requires employees to work from 9am to 9pm, 6 days per week. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it also gave rise to ‘tang ping’. Tang Ping means ‘lying flat’ and is a movement among young people that resists societal pressures and expectations. It prioritises not overworking, being content with more attainable achievements and allowing time to unwind.
“Lying flat is my wise movement,” a user wrote in a since-deleted post on the discussion forum Tieba, adding: “Only by lying down can humans become the measure of all things.”
Despite the distance and the different cultures, I was surprised to find people face similar obstacles to resting in public, be it in Germany or in Shanghai. Whether it is the security guard in a Shanghai park who reads someone lying down as ‘misbehaving’ or the registrar at a German wedding ceremony who reads someone lying down in their wedding dress as an ‘emergency’, lying down in public is rarely read simply as ‘rest’. It is burdened with cultural interpretations that read rest as undesirable, transgressive or dangerous. For those of us who need to lie down throughout the day to manage pain, fatigue or other chronic illnesses, this poses a conundrum and leaves us masking, building our days and our journeys around places we know rest is possible (although not always comfortable or welcomed), or our worlds become very small.
During this project we collected many short stories, eleven of which are featured in the WDR radio play broadcast on 9 November 2024 and even more that will be featured on our Cloudspotting archive. We also received two longer pieces of writing, beautiful reflections that I share here with the authors’ permission, as portals into different experiences, in the hope that we can collectively shift how we read, interpret and respond to rest in our public spaces.
In Meditations of Lying Down Min Shen wonders why we must be in ‘constant apology’ when attempting to rest in public, and thinks about our unequal access to public space. She meditates on who has the right to a ‘visible body’ in our culture, and the cultural aversion to seeing the body in recovery. In Chrononormativity Alex Wynne Schmiedel muses on the temporal norms that structure our lives, how they personally encounter these norms and why it is so hard to allow oneself to rest.
“Because every break feels like a conflict, a deficit or a social faux pas. Because these breaks are filled with shame learned early on in training and work contexts. We live in a chrononormative culture that moves between pressure to perform, self-optimization and hustle culture.”
These pieces are deep dives into the philosophy and lived experience of chronic illness. I invite you to engage in the small act of disrupting chronormativity by carving out some time to read or listen to them. In the spirit of crip solidarity please share these ideas and words with anyone who would benefit them.
Raquel & the Cloudspotting team
Chronormativity
Alex Wynne Schmiedel
Why does it happen? The feeling of not being able to go any further and of crumbling inside like a sandcastle in the waves? On the way to a meeting one afternoon in 2016, I was sitting on the grass because I just couldn't go on. The summer sun, 30 degrees, bright light and the noisy street: my body was suddenly so heavy, as if gravity had tripled in the blink of an eye. At the time, I didn't understand why the world was suddenly too much for me, so that an overwhelming pressure built up inside me that screamed from every cell in my body like a caged animal: It's too much, it's all too much right now.
Today I have a word for it: sensory overload. Sometimes it washes into my life like a single, cautious wave, sometimes it is a swell that overwhelms not by its strength but by its continuity, and then again there are situations that feel like an untamed flood. Having a word for it makes it easier. Because with this knowledge comes the possibility of recognising it for what it is and learning step by step to deal with it, take action and also recognise its precursors.
Whether on trains, in supermarkets, on long working days filled with screens and people, at the next construction site or on a nice evening with friends: stimuli bombard us all. A brain with autism and ADHD like mine just processes them in a different way. For me personally, this means I usually perceive many impressions faster, more intensely and with a pronounced simultaneity. A double-edged sword, because on the one hand it is the cause of many qualities that people appreciate about me: quickwittedness, creative and an attentive community orientation. I can network knowledge quickly, am curious and love to learn. On the other hand, it is also what makes me falter, pause, stagnate and run away: stimuli can quickly become too much for me, overwhelm me and cause my attention to burst. Then I need peace and quiet. And sometimes I don't notice it or notice it too late.
And again and again there are situations where I don't allow myself to pause. Because then I feel too slow or as if I am holding up or disturbing others around me. And being too fast? Jumping from thought to thought and linking impressions, conversations and knowledge? Conversely, I slow that down too.
Time and dealing with it is a balancing act for me. And the rope I am balancing on is chrononormativity. Chronos comes from the Greek and means time; strictly speaking, Chronos was the god of time in their pantheon. And normativity describes the culturally woven network of instructions for action, of norms, in which we move as a society. In disability studies, the field of disability science that I often come across in my work, a lot of thought is given to this chrononormativity. For example, when it comes to how a society imagines a good life: what kind of temporal norms are hidden in our ideas about long lives, about milestones with time stamps that are attributed to us, such as marriage, children and house? And what about ideas about performance and working hours? How long "should" it take to solve a task or do a "small thing" around the house? If we as a society carry these norms within us, who are we addressing with them, who are we excluding, and what does that mean for those of us who fall outside these patterns?
I keep thinking about what chrononormativity means to me personally and where I encounter it. Let me give you just one example: I encounter chrononormativity in the absence of breaks that I needed and that didn't happen because the structure of a work schedule or a meeting with friends predicted otherwise; that didn't happen because the infrastructure of public transport is riddled with delays; that didn't happen because our flashing neon city centres are not designed to be accessible when it comes to processing stimuli and, above all, that didn't happen because I don't allow myself to have them. Why don't I allow myself these breaks? Because I've heard too often that I'm too slow or oversensitive. Because every break feels like a conflict, a deficit or a social faux pas. Because these breaks are filled with shame learned early on in training and work contexts. We live in a chrononormative culture that moves between pressure to perform, selfoptimisation and hustle culture. My resting story is therefore the story of a long path that I had to take in order to even allow myself to take breaks again. Because sometimes we don't rest even though we should. Today is a nice afternoon for a break.
Meditations on Lying Down
Min Shen
A few days ago, a friend posted about a children's illustration book. The introduction goes: “She just stays in a different place from everyone. She can freely experience the world in a world of two square meters."
The book called The World of Two Square Meters records the growth story of a 9-yearold girl, Mionn Kaine, who was frequently hospitalised due to congenital diseases. A friend said that this book is also suitable for me to read. Due to an accidental injury, I was trapped in bed for a long time around the end of last year and the first half of this year. However, it is still too difficult for me to read such a subject. So I started to think about this line in the introduction - in addition to the little girl’s courage, I also saw an ideal state of mind that the body is trapped, but the mind is still free. This is also the state I have always hoped to achieve.
It was the first anniversary of my surgery a while ago. I was thinking about writing an article to release the remaining bitterness in my heart and gain some strength (and comfort) from writing, but I have yet to start. If rumination only involves gazing at your own scars again without gaining any strength, that will do you no good.
As I was getting better, I increased my “non-lying” time. I walked and enjoyed more sitting and playing on my computer, as well as the pleasure of sitting and reading, even checking my phone while sitting. Nevertheless, I will still feel that there is an inverted hourglass in all the non-lying time - the movements need to be calculated, and the physical strength is timed. What I read and write has become much less than before, and it has also become more purposeful. If I want to write something, it must be to save myself.
There is one theme that has been lingering in my mind, that is, during this year, when “lying down” has greatly occupied my life, my thoughts on “lying down” and the tolerance and rejection of “lying down” in different external spaces. She stays in the same place as everyone else, just with a different posture. I was locked in bed for most of the three months after surgery. During that time, my doctor asked me to mainly lie down. Resting in bed is not a word that makes people hate or fear. People will rest in bed when they feel uncomfortable. Resting in bed usually means that they can sit in bed and eat, and they can also watch TV, read books, work and do many things.
But it’s not the case for me. I have to lie flat at 180 degrees. This is a subtle gesture that falls under the category of “sleeping” and is considered private and unguarded. For the person lying down and the people around him who see him lying down, it implies that “I see your vulnerability”.
“Lying down/flat” is such a word of dark humour.
Tang Ping, or lying down/flat, refers to an attitude among Chinese young people who refuse to follow the stressful 996 work routine. However, in my case, it is Tang Ping in its literal sense. I am not making a choice about choosing life over work. It is not a choice for me; it is the only way that my injured back can recover and gain strength. Sitting, suitable for most people, turns out to put a lot of stress on the back.
At the beginning of the year, I was doing some translation work on my iPad, so Royal Body by Hilary Mantel was translated while I was lying down 180 degrees. Of course what I do most on iPad is to watch shows. This also made me realize how much of a blessing a streaming service like NT Live is to people with limited mobility. After the pandemic, everyone seems to be saying “let theatre return to theatres” or “movies back to cinema”. My heart sank, knowing that there are some voices that have not been heard: it’s necessary for streaming to keep existing as it allows those who do not have the means to go out or sit still for a long time to experience theatre and movies too, just as necessary as accessible ramp.
Three months later, the doctor said I could take off the back brace and become a normal person again (except that I can’t lift heavy stuff, or jump, or do sit-ups). A few weeks ago, I watched Sophia Floersch’s documentary #RACEGIRL - Das Comeback der Sophia Floersch. In one scene after a scan she jumped up to the camera and said: “I can jump, I have healed.”
I was deeply shocked when I saw this. The word “healed” was given to me three months after my surgery. However, I didn’t have the courage to accept it or accept that I was healed. Some of my friends still ask me when is your next check up? Actually there is none. I’m healed, but why is it so difficult to say it? Because I have always dreamed of a perfect recovery. “Healed” is sloppy and full of rough edges. How can there be any perfect “healed”?
There is a line in the book Right View - a title that refers to a concept in Buddhist philosophy - that goes “we believe deeply in the concept of ‘solution’. It seems that everything we have experienced, or our life up to this moment, is just a dress rehearsal. The grand performance is yet to begin.” This is exactly what I dreamed of: waiting for the “comeback” in my mind, I pictured the athlete Kim Clijsters and her “coming back” in the spotlight surrounded by cheers from the audience and flowers... The sharp contrast between such a beautiful scene and my reality makes me feel lost. Now I understand the absurdity of this fantasy, but I don’t blame myself for harbouring it. The days when I was injured were lonely and painful. When I return to the crowd, I hope to get cheers and applause - I’m practicing cheering and applauding for myself.
Life requires “waiting”, but waiting for a perfect comeback is unnecessary. People can’t wait for the return of their past selves, but I can still begin, right now. Beginning means going to the outside world. The first few days after I took off the brace, I felt like “running naked”. I practiced walking on the flattest ground around my neighbourhood. After I could walk for longer, I started a kind of ‘park life’ accompanied by my family.
‘Park life' means going for walk in the park, bringing a picnic mat, walking for a while and lying down for a while. At that time, I needed to lie down and recharge (now it has become fast charging). Lying down/flat at 180 degrees is rarely seen in the park. Sometimes I see people without a picnic mat lying down on the grass with a school bag under their head and falling asleep. This scene somehow does not make me feel out of place, as if they are not so eye-catching compared to myself lying on the spread out mat.
Wait, is it because they are men? They were just tired. And me too.
I was lying in the Gongqing Forest Park, under tall trees and beside shrubs at three in the afternoon when the big lawn is like dotted with boiled dumplings and catkins flying in the air. I lay down in the Riverside Forest Park, Daning Park with its manmade beach and Songjiang’s Chenshan Botanical Garden on a workday when I almost had the whole place to myself. Not all parks allow people to lie down. Forget about Luxun Park because there is no restfriendly lawn in it and the benches are the only partitioned ones I’ve seen in Shanghai. I don’t know why we would have a bench divided into three sections so no one can lie down there.
Sometimes you can also come across good benches without backs, such as the riverside wooden benches not far from the Pudong Art Museum, which are not too cold like the stone slabs in the park. The most comfortable thing is undoubtedly the booth seating in a restaurant. I lay down there twice in a Vietnamese Pho restaurant, and the waiters just pretended not to see, and I was extremely grateful. I recently visited the East Branch of the Shanghai Library. Outside the library, there is a small forest called the Reading Forest. The long wooden benches in it are wide and long, and are King Size benches for lying down.
But in such an open-air venue, on a bench that is designed for sitting rather than lying down, it is inevitable to worry about being chased away by security or staff. In the Glass Art Museum I was lying near the bathroom. When the cleaning staff passed by my family would say, “She has a backache, please let her rest." Then she just walked away. But there are other situations, such as in the Square Park on East Yan'an Road. That day, I spent the morning like a smart Shanghainese: I visited Fuxing Park and Xin Tian Di, had a good meal, and took a short rest before heading back home. I wanted to recharge my battery for a while. But the security guard from the Square Park came over and said, "You can't sleep here." My family explained, but the security guard still insisted, “You can’t lie down."
I told my friend that I am still afraid of being criticised for lying down in public, maybe because it is considered an ‘indecent’ behaviour. She replied quickly: “I don't think it's indecent!” I have also been feeling angry and powerless. Lying down to me means resting, just like other people who want to sit down when they are tired. ‘Sitting' is an acceptable acton, but 'lying down’ cannot exist calmly in a public space because of its artificially given ‘privacy' and thus requires caution and constant apology.
Why do we apologise for ‘lying down’? Because public space and public resources are not equally open to everyone in the end? Even venues that don’t require tickets have invisible ‘norms’: you have to be a certain type of person to enter. Isn't it the place that deserves to apologise for failing to make it accessible, rather than the people who need accessibility?
Margaret Atwood wrote: “You can have a body, though, if you're a rock star, an athlete, or a gay model... Having a body is not altogether serious." This points out the ‘transgression' of the ‘lying down’ behaviour. ‘Lying down’ reminds us that we/others have a body, and this body is not ‘suitable’ to be displayed like a rock star, athlete, or model. You cannot ‘lie down’ to display. This society believes that people are the carriers of will, that will can transform the world, and that the body serves the execution of will. Therefore, a body that demonstrates the limitations of the human will, the fragility of the human body, a body in recovery, a body of a 30 something woman who somehow wanders around the city during the workday, is not to be celebrated and praised in any case. The subject, with a body like this, should have hidden itself in an office building, hidden away from the sun, making movements like typing on the keyboard. This body, should have been producing something...
Isn't this a kind of ‘fear of weakness’?
What would have happened if the security guard at the East Yan'an Road Plaza Park had not come to ask me to get up from my lying state? What would happen if all the imperfect bodies in this city came out to bask in the sun? I imagined members of the Fracture Club lying or sitting on the lawn. Is this scene unbearable or is it uncomfortable? Is it less decent compared to a man in suit sitting straight on a narrow bench at Luxun Park? How did the unwritten laws of public space come about?
People attach a lot of meaning and imagination to space. The sanctity and selectivity of space are man-made. The ‘distant place’ (rather than the home with the best accessibility) carries meanings including that of poetry. People mistakenly think that they are ‘free’ to enjoy this space. When acting according to the unwritten rules of space, people think that they have enjoyed this space, obtained the object of ‘noble city people’... but they do not realize that they are just copying desires and actions. Human autonomy is actually only the privilege of some lucky ones.
Professor Ueno Chizuko, in her book Thoughts for Survival, wrote that Yoshisa Kazuko said, “Even if my mind is unclear and I cause trouble to the people around me, I still want to live." I need Thoughts for Lying Down Wherever I Want.
As AI becomes more and more popular, experts point out that humans are already living in a ‘disembodied world’ with AI Agents. Will people become more and more inclined to value the will over the body, and even do things that annihilate the body? What humans repeatedly and selectively forget is the existence of the body.
Experts say that “non-verbal descriptive interaction is an irreplaceable human skill"; I would like to add that, what the language fails to reach also include traumas which are hard to talk about and have to be borne by one person alone. They are not in the category of ‘skills’; rather, they are the heavy burdens that humanity bears and they are what makes us human.
In addition to hoping that Ueno and writers can keep finding words for those who have difficulty to speak out or are physically unable to be present, I also hope that there will be more and more time that I don’t have to explain myself or be questioned when I can't find any words.
We would like to thank Arts Access, Theatre Young and the British Council for supporting our residency in May 2024. We would also like to thank WDR and Mousonturm for hosting our residency in June 2024.
