Märklin’s Viktoria returns once again, held in the grip of winter. She sits calmly in a pool of clear blue-green water, a deliberate opening carved into the ice that surrounds her. Snow blankets the ground, softening the landscape and muting sound, while the ship remains crisp and luminous. This is not a voyage in motion but a moment of pause, a breath taken between departures.
Behind the frozen pool stands a modernist house, its glass walls revealing a warm interior that feels worlds away from the cold. On the wall hangs a painting titled Uncertain Outcome. This work is not incidental; it is the first painting I completed featuring Märklin’s Viktoria. Its presence here establishes a quiet loop in the story, a beginning folded back into the present. The ship appears both outside, in the ice, and inside, in memory — a reminder that this object has travelled not only through imagined seas, but through time, through paint, and through repeated acts of looking.
Nearby, a display case holds other familiar characters from earlier paintings. The rocket from Take Me to Your Leader stands ready for departure, the race car from Golden Arrow waits in perfect stillness, and the orange robot from Hold the Line offers its blunt, mechanical optimism. Together, they form a personal archive, a collection that charts a lifetime of curiosity, play, and storytelling. Each object carries its own history, yet all speak the same visual language.
In today’s world of advanced electronics and disposable distractions, tinplate toys possess a rare and enduring charm. Their appeal lies in suggestion rather than simulation. With painted surfaces, simplified forms, and ingenious mechanics, they invite imagination to do the rest. Germany, and Märklin in particular, played a defining role in this tradition, producing toys that balanced craftsmanship with wonder. Among them, Viktoria remains exceptional.
As a toy ship, Viktoria echoes the grandeur of early transatlantic liners, when passenger travel was defined by elegance and anticipation. The great ships of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries transformed the ocean crossing into an event, a journey where time slowed, and ceremony mattered. Even in miniature, that spirit endures.
Placed here in winter, Viktoria becomes a symbol of resilience and intent. Someone has taken the time to break the ice, creating just enough space for her to float. It is an unnecessary act in the best possible sense — an expression of care, patience, and belief in the value of the object itself. The cold is acknowledged, but it does not prevail.
Exotic Journeys, Winter is not about travel as movement, but travel as continuity. The ship outside, the painting inside, and the toys gathered nearby form a single, ongoing narrative. Märklin’s Viktoria is no longer just a toy or a subject; she is a constant, quietly navigating the spaces between memory, imagination, and the enduring desire to set sail again.
Exotic Journeys, Winter, Oil on Linen 125 cm x 95 cm
