Alexeï Vassiliev leaves us alone, faced with a secret world: reality.
Reality imposes itself on him; he does not want to be its simple spectator. He is witness to the existential dismay expressed, silently, by all the characters that surprise his lens, our contemporaries lost in this new twenty-first century, cloistered in solitude, harassed by emptiness, physically and morally exhausted, tempted by resistance, threatened by depression, always on the edge of the abyss and so humbly tragic. If he were a painter, he would enter into a dialogue with his peers so as to evoke a universe sometimes paved with bright colors, sometimes plunged into a shadowy crepuscule, always bathed in an indefinable light. If he were a musician, he would let himself be carried away by the irresistible desire to improvise, to go searching at the borders of the abstraction of musical images.
If he were a stage director, theatrical scenes would come to him in which strange, silent plays were performed, with an infinite number of acts and of characters. If he were a sculptor, he would capture that part of the definitive that is always hidden in the ephemeral, and gives us a timeless universe – or, rather, where past, present and future were reunited in a unique instant.

Curiously*, Alexeï Vassiliev is a photographer. . .


*Curiously can mean:
eager to learn or know;
in a manner differing from the usual or expected;
inquisitive; prying.