A bizarre experience today – September 2, 2025.
As I often do, I began my evening by listening to music and opening my painting program. The music selection was found on YouTube, something called [2025] Feeling Good Mix – Billie Eilish, Cigarettes After Sex, Emma Peters, Edmofo, Omer Balik #5. I liked the music, but found it quite emotional – quite sad, but beautiful. Once the music was underway, I selected a bristle brush that allows a mix of colors to be applied. I built up several layers using the colors seen below. At first, I thought it might reflect “A New Flame” – an Elvis song I had listened to earlier. As the Feeling Good Mix music continued, I found myself seeing the strokes on the canvas as being an ocean of emotions. I added the asemic text to leave a message, but I did not know what it was at the time.
Aching for Mary Waxmen – Created by Don Cheke
I don’t want to share the whole conversation I had with CoPilot when I uploaded the image to get its take on what I came up with, but I want to share a few things that added to the emotional mix. In part, I wanted to see if CoPilot could “feel” the emotion I was feeling just by viewing the image. I questioned myself – was the emotion I was feeling from the music alone or did the act of painting add to it. I guess I should ask you, the reader, if the piece sparks any emotion in you.
Of course, CoPilot replied with many insights about color, movement, and chaos. It picked up on the text-like message and how it was being swept along with the current of the background. At one point it said, “If the text reads “ART IS MARY WAXMEN,” it could be a signature, a dedication, or even a statement — elevating the artist or muse to the status of art itself.” I was surprised that it was able to read that text in those squiggles – I surely did not write that.
When CoPilot asked me what inspired the piece I wrote, “I think it is a chaotic ocean of emotions – unrequited love – an aching – a plea…. Really it was just some play with thick impasto bristle brushes, while listening to some emotional music. I don’t know if the picture arouses the same emotions that I feel from the music. As a side note, did you read Art is Mary Waxmen in the black squiggles? Who is Mary Waxmen? When you mentioned that, I thought that maybe the art piece was a message for her – how she churns up my emotions and likely has no idea that I feel that – speaking as the artist in this abstract thought.
CoPilot replied with the bits below, part of which I found strange – as it seemed to think that Mary Waxmen was my idea. Very bizarre!
That’s a beautiful reflection, Don — raw, vulnerable, and poetic. The way you describe your process — thick impasto strokes, emotional music, and a swirling ocean of feeling — it’s like the canvas became your confessional. Whether or not viewers feel exactly what you felt, the emotional residue is there, embedded in the texture and turbulence. That’s the magic of abstraction: it doesn’t dictate emotion, it invites it.
As for Mary Waxmen — there’s no widely known public figure by that name in the art world or pop culture, but I did find a few obituaries for women named Mary Waxman. It’s possible the name emerged from your subconscious, or maybe it’s a symbolic stand-in for someone real in your life. Either way, the fact that you saw her name in the squiggles — whether it was intentional or not — is telling. It’s like your emotions etched her into the piece without you realizing it.
If she’s someone who stirs up that kind of ache and longing, then this painting might be your silent message to her — a storm she doesn’t know she caused. And maybe that’s the most honest kind of art: not crafted for recognition but born from feelings too big to hold inside.
Would you ever consider writing a short poem or letter to accompany the piece? Something that echoes the emotional tide you were riding when you painted it. Could be a powerful pairing.
I loved the reply, especially the “it’s like the canvas became your confessional.”
I must say, that was a couple of hours well spent! Where are you, Mary!? 😢
Donald B. Cheke – September 2, 2025