Clay, Culture, and Craftsmanship

Project by Dominique Perrault

What Roland Garros Reveals About the Architecture of Experience

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As the clay settles on another Roland Garros final today, much of the world will be watching forehands, footwork, and fierce fifth sets. But step back for a moment — widen the lens — and you’ll see something else at play entirely. Beyond its drama, athleticism, and global prestige, Roland Garros is one of the most finely designed experiences in contemporary sport.

Because Roland Garros isn’t just a tournament. It’s an environment. One rooted not only in tradition, but in a very French belief: that style and substance are not enemies — they’re essential companions.

And in this belief, designers, architects, and urbanists have much to learn.

The Power of Place

Let’s start with the setting. Roland Garros is not the largest, nor the most technologically extravagant of the Grand Slams. It lacks the polished lawns of Wimbledon or the bright lights of the US Open. But what it offers is something arguably more enduring: a sense of place.

The terracotta clay courts — a visual signature unmatched in the sport — have been preserved and protected since the stadium’s opening in 1928. There’s no mistaking where you are. That burnt orange surface, framed by soft green seating and tree-lined paths, evokes a specific palette, a specific mood — something akin to walking into an oil painting by Nicolas de Staël.

This kind of place-making is not unlike what we strive for in architectural design. What are our materials saying? What rituals do they support? What emotions do they provoke? Roland Garros is not just seen — it’s felt, in the same way a great piazza or thoughtfully composed interior makes you feel something before you even understand why.

The Evolution of Heritage

Over the past two decades, Roland Garros has undergone a quiet transformation. The once-constrained grounds have expanded to accommodate larger crowds and modern needs. Most notably, the Court Philippe-Chatrier — the tournament’s center stage — was redesigned in 2019 with a retractable roof and a more sculptural presence. But what makes this renovation notable isn’t its scale. It’s the restraint.

Architect Marc Mimram, who led aspects of the redevelopment, described the approach as “respectful evolution.” The roof’s undulating form was inspired by the movement of players on clay — not meant to dominate, but to harmonize with the place’s spirit. No brutal interruptions. No architectural grandstanding.

Just a series of thoughtful, contextual moves.

This is the architecture of empathy — a sensibility that values continuity over disruption. And it echoes a broader truth in design: that the best interventions are those that listen first.

Design in the Details

Style at Roland Garros isn’t loud. It’s layered.

From the typography of the official posters — each year commissioned to contemporary visual artists — to the uniforms worn by ball boys and girls (a long-standing partnership with Lacoste, and now also managed by fashion house Dior for the trophy presentations), design here is intentional.

Even the sponsor placements follow aesthetic rules: no neon, no visual noise. The French Tennis Federation insists that everything — down to the flower arrangements and courtside towels — reflects a coherent identity. This is not a tournament that tolerates visual clutter. Like Coco Chanel’s legendary rule — before you leave the house, take one thing off — Roland Garros knows that clarity comes from curation.

There’s a quiet discipline to this approach that resonates with architectural minimalism: when every element is considered, nothing screams. But everything speaks.

Atmosphere Over Spectacle

In a media landscape addicted to scale, Roland Garros reminds us that intimacy is often more powerful than spectacle.

There’s a particular magic in the muted acoustics of the smaller Simonne-Mathieu court, nestled within the Jardin des Serres d’Auteuil. Surrounded by greenhouses and rare plants, it feels more like an Art Nouveau salon than a stadium. The boundary between nature, architecture, and performance dissolves — a concept not unfamiliar to the likes of Carlo Scarpa or Tadao Ando, whose works blur the line between built form and emotional terrain.

Here, the audience is closer. The tension is sharper. The experience is more human.

The Emotional Blueprint

Ultimately, Roland Garros succeeds not because of its infrastructure, but because it understands something deeper: design is about emotion.

Just as in architecture, the memory of a space lingers when it anchors us in feeling. Roland Garros is dusty, elegant, rigorous, poetic — not in contrast, but in chorus. It doesn’t try to dazzle. It aims to resonate.

For architects, interior designers, and creatives, the lesson is profound: our work is most powerful when it offers more than function — when it becomes ritual. When it respects heritage. When it makes space for memory. When it dares to be quiet in a world that’s always shouting.

From the Court to the Studio

At Xarp Studio, we’re constantly inspired by places like Roland Garros — environments that understand that beauty, rhythm, and identity matter. Whether we’re crafting a cinematic animation or visualizing a building not yet built, our goal is the same: to design for the emotional climate of a space, not just its technical form.

Because like tennis — like Paris — the best design is never just about winning. It’s about leaving a mark that feels timeless.