Tennis entered my life before photography did — and it stayed forever. It is the only sport in which one person spends three hours alone with everything: with fatigue, with doubt, and with a ball that forgives nothing.
I watch it like a photographer: I look for the moment. A saved break point, a return painted on the line, a fifth-set tie-break — these are frames that cannot be planned. That is why I never skip the big finals or the second weeks of tournaments.
I cheer the loudest for the Poles and the Canadians. Iga showed me that discipline can be beautiful, and Magda — that a match lasts until the very last ball. I will not return to the court myself — an injury closed that chapter. What remains is the most durable part of tennis: understanding the game, and the joy of every clean strike, even someone else’s.