Christian Estrup Updated on Apr 27, 2024 3 min read

Trust the process

Life has its funny ways. When you lose the sense of having a goal, it can be hard to trust the process. But maybe you need not despair, even if you feel like you're groping blindly: It may turn out that you are on the right path even without knowing it.

I came across these photos in the archive the other day, from a walk along the beach at Søndervig last winter. I haven't really looked at them in the meantime. But doing so now it strikes me how, over the last year, my painting has approached the atmosphere, motifs and light of these specific images.

Dunes and old bunkers on the beach in the hazy golden winter sun.

I can't help but think of the phrase I don't know where I'm going, but I know how to get there.

Often in life it might feel like you are completely off track. Often you doubt what you are doing and feel completely unable to find your way.

Even more pronounced when it comes to navigating life as a creative or artist, I guess. Founding a thriving startup or making a career as a creative freelancer is precisely choosing other paths.

What more than anything else has made the decisive difference for me, is that I have learned to trust the process.

As Albert Einstein allegedly wrote to his son, life is like riding a bicycle. The important thing is not that we have a specific goal. What is important is the process itself: that we know how to move forward and trust that with daily repetition and open and curious eyes, we will be led in the right direction.

Over time, even the impenetrable concrete of the bunker will turn to dust.

I didn't think about art theory or philosophy of life when I walked there along the beach. I was just present, enjoying an unusually beautiful February day.

Seen in hindsight, however, I can easily see that it is precisely the passage of time and the contrast between strict man-made objects and the organic wildness of nature that I had my eye on.

Although my paintings may seem to branch off in many directions my fondness for worn, patinated and weathered surfaces runs through them like a common thread: I love to mimic nature's decay processes and have just always been fascinated by hidden layers and traces of use and wear and tear.

It is therefore not surprising that my art practice today revolves around the way everything is part of a larger cycle and also buildings and cultures deteriorate and transform into nature.