Overcome by the January post-holiday syndrome, i am brushing the February snow off the benches, because lying down is easier to bear. I want salad. In this year, let the first be the "Mimosa", i dreaming. And therefore-picking out the coal eye of a falling snowman, from the next platform in sight, I use its to makeuping my face and also humiliating heartburn - I go to visit.
in the dressing gown of the fat, dark-emerald, forty-five-year-old woman, I eating white-and-yellow portions after champagne glasses. sizzles in the depths of the coal at the bottom of the stomach, do not fly up the esophagus bubbles with gas, but without this festive. where she is? I am composing the exhibition. cold, cough, pieces of bones of the Pollock. probably went to the magnet for herring, she knows I love salads and purple, magenta. knows that I am an artist, whispers to me tenderly: "call me-curator". she guesses that this is someone important in the art world and maybe even celestial. and there are such birds on earth - geese, pale blue. and there is such a horse - Pegasus, shining, wing leaving a trace on the blackcurrant of an overripe cherry-colored sky with gold. and there is a gallery - Artpogost, I am the guest here, the nail of February. as on the orbital station will freeze in its halls my drawings. and there will be applause from the only astronaut. Hello time-replay in 2020. at the exhibition, all the pictures from the past, United by a place. I'm not chasing time, my strategy is like a stick stuck in a fast-moving stream what that sticks to it-leaves, seaweed, and garbage-goes then it appears as my sample and becomes the subject of research. This is not looking beyond the horizon - it is looking at your own existence, looking down the feet. an unforgettable taste of Mimosa
Alexey Vasilyev
born in 1980.
In 2002 he graduated from the Kaluga state pedagogical University them. K. E. Tsiolkovsky. Lives and works in Kaluga.
I mainly write on paper and on canvas using acrylic paint. The material and color in my works are always subordinated to the need to figuratively convey a story or personal metaphor. For installations, I often use other materials or paint the walls of the exhibition space, which become a plot continuation of my canvases and drawings.
As an anthropologist, i documenting my feelings, visual and text combining and making them a single whole and turning them into very personal notes and sketches-sometimes real, sometimes imaginary. The paper, walls, concrete, and other surfaces on which I draw are pages of various sizes and textures, and my exhibitions are diaries that have opened up in public space. Each portrait has its own story-a collision with a real or fictional biography, an episode from the life of the character.