Bounce and hit
#Versicoloured 4
I used to live on a island in the South of Brazil. The same island where tennis player Guga Kuerten was born and raised. When he became N.1 in the world I was nine years old, and in Brazil a world champion in sports becomes a superhero, melting in the collective imagination. Years later, when I started playing tennis on a small court in Barnes Village, my only connection to the sport was that I came from the same place as him. So, I would introduce myself to practice partners by announcing that we were from the same island, as if this was a personal credential. Some were too young to know what I was talking about.
I was watching Roland Garros this past week, and Guga’s face celebrating João Fonseca in his matches brought me memories. Like, I used to have lunch in a small restaurant named Rolando Arroz (translation: “rolling rice”), a playful pun that phonetically echoes Roland Garros when spoken aloud. Try it. Rolando Arroz. Also remembered the two tennis courts nearby one of the places I lived. I looked at them as secret places only actors from Match Point movie were allowed. Tennis in Brazil was an expensive and inaccessible sport.
It took me three years of depression to find out that the sports centre nearby my house in London had free tennis every Sunday. Then I paid for a coaching group session, to learn not only new moves, but a very important life lesson.
Your mind only needs to focus on this. Bounce and hit. Nothing more. If it gets distracted, it will miss, the instructor. And another player completed: it’s like we were made for that, bounce and hit.
I watch João Fonseca play and admire his focus. I imagine myself in his position and think of all the famous people watching me, starting by Guga at the audience, going to perhaps Emmanuel Macron in a fancy leather couch, and Giselle Bundchen at a beach house in Porto Rico. I realise I would be terrified of people witnessing my talents. But the thing about tennis is that you can’t think of anything else apart from bounce and hit, and then bounce and hit might get you a €56 million prize.
Playing tennis opened my body to a different experience of focus. Not productive focus. Meditative focus, if that expression even exists. Grabbing pure consciousness as if the whole body needs to concentrate on the tiny green ball. Pay attention to it with your fingers, your feet, even your lambs. It’s like in most sports, nothing else matters, and for and hour or so, bounce and hit.
I’ve been comparing writing to sports since I took part in a workshop by Canadian artist Kate Howe at the gallery I used to work. I think she was even a professional skier before being an artist. She shared we don’t usually question the time of training and practice that goes into becoming an artist. If a football player spends hours and hours kicking a ball, what about an artist? A writer?
I have this phrase repeating itself in my mind since the beginning of times: one word after the other. Write and hit. Bounce and write. Hit and word. Word and bounce. Word and word. Rolando Arroz.
Julia.
Flow writing sessions at Alma Studio are designed to guide us to focus and play. This month we’ll be following our memories. I use oracle and Tarot cards as imaginative prompts to generate raw material, and always bring a literary inspiration to guide the practice. Spaces are limited to ensure everyone receives my direct, personal attention. Secure your ticket below.