Studies on Squats is a choreographic inquiry, a dance of the oppressed. Through the performative poetry of the “Asian Squat” (a deep, flat-footed squat commonly used for resting and daily activities in many Asian cultures), I collect memories, histories, myths, and records of daily life to create a new alphabet for respelling resistance.
dance of the oppressed
(1,
For people enduring oppressive conditions, resistance is a vital tool. But resistance by the oppressed requires artistry. When the very act of resisting oppression limits one’s possibilities in life or endangers one’s survival, what then is the nature of resistance?
Could the threat itself mutate the possibilities of what it means to resist? Is resistance always a loud and visible disruption or could it also exist in a slow, obscure, quiet, strange, more fragile form?
the birthing body
(3,
For a long time, women have squatted to bring life into the world, as the children in the wombs, in the earliest moments of becoming, have squatted too.
The supine position came with the medicalization of childbirth in Western hospitals—not for the birthing body, but for the convenience of the male physician, whose hands took control of her.
In the imagined futures of our resistance, the birthing body rises back to the squatting position.
In the imagined futures of our resistance, birthing transcends the biological act. Everyone carries the responsibility and the potential to nurture the next generation of protesters.
In the imagined futures of our resistance, birthing is an act of repair.
The pelvis opens fully and gravity assists.
ball of energy
(5,
frog squat low
body compact
legs bent decisively
muscle hum under the skin
then tighten
coiling into a ball of energy
feet press into damp soil
distributing weight evenly
knees angle out
preparing for flight
center of gravity shift downward
compressing like a spring
every joint in position
for a strong push
motion suspended
stillness vibrate
on the edge of release
falling into a squat
(7,
i-can’t-walk-anymore
words barely escape my lips
before the spine takes over
folding in protest
find me collapsing
when legs bend
drawing me down
from here, i can hear
the quiet sounds of protest
rising from the pavement
take off your shoes
and we dig our toes into soil
let them sprout roots
and touch the water
when we sing together
who decided to paint the horizon
with a fucking single straight line
the air is growing my bones
knees giving way
eyes gliding
squatting deep
into the earth
daring the world to see
that when the body says no
it means she-can-not
surrender, in defiance
refuse to bear more
the back continues to curl
encasing the lungs
balls of my feet anchored
ready to rise
portrait of mothers II
(10,
Umma returned home. Her new Korean apartment has a traditional floor heating system, ondol, but she can’t use it because she can no longer squat, rest, or sleep on the floor like she used to when she left home. Seeing her high bed, with its double soft mattress, and the giant couch occupying half of her living room makes me laugh, then cry. Fifty years of life in Germany and umma’s body experienced distortion. Her body is evidence of the many dehumanizing lives she endured, the remorseless intolerance of cultural clashes, and her persistence to survive in a place that deformed her. She unlearned the Asian squat to hold on to life.
dance outside my body
(19,
I sit in the subway, folding and unfolding. The photo crinkles below my fingers, the paper stiff at first—cool and smooth. I press harder, bending it loosely, then sharply, moving the head next to my right foot. I smile because for the next fifteen minutes, from Spichernstrasse to Kottbusser Tor, I am dancing an impossible dance outside my body. With each fold, the legs soften. I slide along the creases, smoothing them, then push against them, changing the temperature—warm now. The strange body flaps around like a joyful eagle. What is the next move? The knee wants to disappear. I fold again—very slowly this time—a corner bends too far, the tension thickens, and I hear the loud crackle of the fibers. The paper fights back, but I keep going, pressing, twisting, folding. The edges scrape against my hands, rougher now. I keep bending, folding and unfolding.
These poems were originally published in the book Studies on Squats (2024)
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- Image credits
Unseating from an Uncomfortable Chair, 2025, 300 x 420 mm, Two color Risoprint, Edition of 100. © and courtesy of the artist.
