“Less is more, less is more! Come on!” my coach shouts at me as he feeds me balls from the basket, one after another, each one faster than the last. The volleys keep coming at a carefully chosen pace, they test my reactions but give me enough time to recover. I swat them away, some with more success than others — left, right, right, left, left, shank. Occasionally, a ball will clang off the frame of my racquet and launch itself into orbit only to land on a neighbouring court to the dismay of other players. The coach keeps me guessing, changing the pace and direction and throwing in an occasional overhead which forces me to rapidly take a few steps back and trace the flight of the ball with my eyes as it slowly sails high up and for a split second stops, as if held by an invisible hand, contrasting with the bright blue sky, before plummeting down to Earth and hopefully onto my racquet.
Imperfect Beauty
Imperfect Beauty
Imperfect Beauty
“Less is more, less is more! Come on!” my coach shouts at me as he feeds me balls from the basket, one after another, each one faster than the last. The volleys keep coming at a carefully chosen pace, they test my reactions but give me enough time to recover. I swat them away, some with more success than others — left, right, right, left, left, shank. Occasionally, a ball will clang off the frame of my racquet and launch itself into orbit only to land on a neighbouring court to the dismay of other players. The coach keeps me guessing, changing the pace and direction and throwing in an occasional overhead which forces me to rapidly take a few steps back and trace the flight of the ball with my eyes as it slowly sails high up and for a split second stops, as if held by an invisible hand, contrasting with the bright blue sky, before plummeting down to Earth and hopefully onto my racquet.