Sam Kissajukian Photo by Carol Rosegg

In 2021, Kissajukian experienced a six-month long bipolar episode (which for most afflicted people, typically last no more than a few weeks) with extended periods of mania and depression. During that time, he had moved into an abandoned cake factory in Sydney and embarked on a painting career. Without any former training, he began rendering self-portraits and likenesses of friends and colleagues. His early work, an art expert and acquaintance explained, was "modernist" rather than contemporary. Kissajukian didn't realize this was a putdown.

Undaunted, Kissajukian persevered and was extremely prolific. Proudly proclaiming that Picasso spent years working in Cubism, his own engagement lasted mere days before he had moved onto his Matisse-inspired Blue Period. (The artist's swift trajectory is made visible to the audience using a large screen and projector.)

In subsequent months, he modeled himself on Leonardo Da Vinci, and he wanted to bridge the connections between art and science. He resolved to conceive an invention every day, and his eighteen-hour workdays were split between creatively rendering ideas and then presenting them to potential clients. One of these conceptions, which involved a complex anti-business model applied to a satirical approach to the materialist and elitist art scene (under the moniker Pisscasso), found short-lived interest with a hedge-fund investor.

After completing some 300 large-scale paintings and countless miniatures, tee-shirts, and illustrated coins, Kissajukian's mania transformed into debilitating depression. It was at this point that he sought help and received the bipolar diagnosis. Initially in denial, he gradually accepts the determination and envies Van Gogh, who reportedly had five different mental illnesses.

As an artist, Kissajukian is very impressive. A large sample of his work adorns the theater, and audience members are invited to peruse the work after the show. It is an eclectic and exciting installation, and the work visually references not only Picasso and Matisse, but also Joan Miró, Jackson Pollock, and Franz Kline. Yet, to this art appreciator (with no claim to deep knowledge), the work is distinctly original.

Kissajukian is an affable raconteur, and he puts the audience at ease by granting permission to laugh at the repercussions of his mental illness. He also displays the stand-up comic's desire to connect with his audience by seeking their affirmation or asking them to guess decisions he made along the way. That said, 300 Paintings does not list a director, and Kissajukian might have benefitted from some theatrical input. (Oona Curley is credited as the scenic and lighting specialist, and these elements provide helpful rudiments of stagecraft.)

To its credit, despite a rambling opening, the narrative is straightforward and well constructed. As a one-person play, however, it only occasionally reaches dramatic heights. It lacks, for instance, the rich tapestry that Mike Birbiglia weaves with an array of idiosyncratic health crises and finely tuned observations in shows like The Old Man and the Pool and The New One. Nor does Kissajukian fully embrace the darkness and humor of his experience in the way that Alex Edelman does in Just for Us, which is both ludicrously funny and deeply disturbing.

As a mixed-media event, 300 Paintings is certainly worth a visit. Go for the performance, but stay for the art.