The vibrant and idiosyncratic still lifes—often composed on hotel stationary—are the work of artist Michael McGregor, whose roots in a “huge tennis family” inform one of his favorite themes.

Frenchman Arthur Fils—the charisma bomb—is back and looking better than ever.

Sure, game-play conditions may vary, and a maintained court is more enticing for actual play, but as purely aesthetic fascinations, the inherently satisfying rationality of court design endures. 

Agnès Ricart is a multimedia artist from Spain who—close Racquet readers will confirm—has been a staple in our visual vocabulary for the better part of a decade. Alongside classic Racquet illustrations such as Medvedev flipping the bird at the collected crowd at the US Open, Naomi Osaka's masked protest during COVID and even a protester using a tennis racquet to clear a cannister of tear gas. Her work is vivid and cheeky, and can be seen across the world from The Guardian to Die Ziet to the Economist. We asked her to bring to life an ode to the tennis ball in our latest issue, and to sit down for a Q&A about her artistic practice.

When Aryna Sabalenka’s on-court intensity translates into campy, self-congratulatory TikToks, harmony is felt and sense is made. But Jannik’s on-court persona, tightly controlled like an unseasoned chicken breast, respectfully, need not be repackaged for YouTube. Because where is the flavor?!?

There’s something wonderful about seeing “closed for the season” on a hotel’s website. They’re just four words, but they say so much: we don’t wring every penny from this property; this location has a “season;” this hotel values your experience far too much to stay open during sub-par weather. “Closed for the season” has a lot of sexy indifference to it; it makes you want to visit even more.

Racquet’s See You In Court is a regular column in which Melissa Kenny, a famously mediocre lifelong player, opines on pro tennis. She also writes Hard Hitting, a Substack about the thrills and frustrations of recreational tennis.

The soundtrack at a modern club has changed from a single note to a full symphony. You still hear the familiar ping of the strings on a tennis ball, but now it's mixed with the rhythmic thwack of pickleball and the bouncy thud of padel on the glass walls. This didn't happen because someone influential decided it should; it happened organically, driven by a new breed of athlete who refuses to be fenced in by tradition.