In Greek mythology, Dionysus is one of the most complex and captivating deities of the Olympian world. Known as the god of wine, celebration, theater, and divine madness, Dionysus embodied both joy and chaos, offering liberation from the ordinary while reminding humanity of the thin line between ecstasy and excess.

Zeus (his father) saved the unborn child, eventually bringing Dionysus into the world, earning him the title of the "twice-born" god. This duality would define his nature: both divine and deeply connected to human experience.

Dionysus was often depicted crowned with ivy, carrying a thyrsus (a staff wrapped in vines), and surrounded by followers known as maenads and satyrs. His presence was associated with wine not just as a drink, but as a symbol of transformation and the ability to loosen inhibitions, dissolve boundaries, and access deeper emotional truths.

Beyond revelry, Dionysus played a crucial role in the origins of theater. Festivals held in his honor, particularly in ancient Athens, gave rise to dramatic arts, influencing tragedy and comedy as we know them today. Through performance, his worship invited participants to explore identity, emotion, and the human condition.

Yet Dionysus was not merely a bringer of joy. He could also unleash frenzy and destruction upon those who resisted or disrespected him. His mythology often reflects a powerful lesson: to deny the primal aspects of human nature is to risk imbalance. In this way, he represents both the freedom of expression and the consequences of repression.

Today, Dionysus endures as a symbol of creative energy, emotional release, and the celebration of life's intensity. He reminds us that within both order and chaos lies the potential for transformation and that sometimes, to truly understand ourselves, we must dare to let go.

-Melanie A. Waits, Next Slide Studio

Passed down from generation to generation. The bullies that took lunch money from the less fortunate children at school. The ones that objectified young ladies whose bodies were blossoming into their own unique womanhood. Hail to the ones that grew into a wildflower rather than another, perfectly manicured, red rose from their garden of expectations. One in a dozen.

Family members, friends, close ones are typically the same, that is, if they want to be the favored child, spouse, cousin, friend, neighbor, stranger.

It takes a hell of a lot more grit to be that outcasted child, spouse, friend, neighbor, coworker, stranger. So, if you feel it’s better for you to take what you consider the easy way out, with your golden ticket of societal acceptance, I understand.

But that shiny golden ticket will only take you so far in a crumbling society…with evil as propriety.

While you scheme behind the curtain, and then cleverly improv on stage, there’s an audience gently reaching for each others’ hands, out of love and support of our neighbor, child, spouse, friend, stranger…because, from our perspective, we see the danger.

Oh, yeah…we’re so silly. We’re crazy. That gaslight has always remained bright…right?

Suppressed, undressed, stressed and told we’re blessed

To have a bumbling fool scream and spit in our face, and categorize us by class, level of empathy, and race. What a disgrace he has made of this place…and the human race.

People are conditioned to hide their natural talents, their natural voices, warp their perception and rethink their direction.

There are the ones that are ridiculed for going off script. Cutting the marionette strings, and simply becoming human beings.

But I’m not going to fight back in a way that you’d wish I would. “It’s ok, bro. I’m not mad at you.”…We’ll give you plenty of rope…keep doing what you do.

They’d rather burn the whole world down, with the help of flying monkeys before they’ll be exposed. Our job was to do all we’re told, all primped and posed.

You stepped on us, while throwing out compliments and empty promises just to climb to the top. You think you’re unstoppable, but one day, you’ll stop.

How do I know this? Because I’ve been held captive by you. I was the daughter, the friend, the neighbor, the cousin, coworker, church member, the stranger to you.

I’ve worked with the rotting corporate cliques that turn against you when you blow the whistle on wrongdoing. And every step taken toward personal success, hearing nothing but booing.

I’ve sat in church, noticing the side eye, the one that was begging me to notice, so that they know that I know that I’m less…and have no business entering their country club, especially in that dress.

I was categorized, labeled, classed, and told to just marry rich. Poor or rich, why? For my security, only to be addressed as a “fucking bitch”?

I get pushed down when I resist, told to remember my place. Actually, excuse me…I’ll embrace my sacred space…with my true friends, neighbors, companion…with grace.

Still in its place.
Concrete. Solid ground.
Leading toward something, whether you can see it right now or not.

Waiting for you to step back on
after stumbling off to the side…
into the dark wooded areas,
into the soft sand,
into a sea of doubt, despair,
tumultuous currents pulling you into confusion.

Look back at where you started.

The path is still there.

You’ve failed… again.
Lost your focus.
With what feels like nothing but loneliness
walking beside your broken spirit.

But sometimes,
the deafening silence of loneliness
is what drowns out the music around you.

Listen.

Listen to the soft-spoken voices
that remind you of your worth,
spoken gently,
with an arm wrapped around your shoulders.

Listen to the ones
who call out your name with zeal as you pass by.

Not one of them is obligated
to give you a single breath of encouragement.

But they do.

Because they see something in you.

They’ve been lost before too;
just in different ways.

That support?
That’s energy.

Energy meant to guide you
back toward where you’re meant to be.

Keep going.

The path is still there for us.

The detours.
The roadblocks.
The reckless drivers of life
moving only for themselves.

Who are they?

The ones still lost,
ears covered,
blinders on.

Wild cards without direction.
Without meaning.

Maybe some will find their way.
Maybe some won’t.

But not you.

Not us.

We’ll move forward,
hand in hand,
with intention.

And the current?

It will carry the rest away

At the heart of evangelical culture is the call to “witness” or share one’s faith. For believers, this isn’t casual, it’s often viewed as a moral responsibility tied to eternal consequences. That urgency can blur lines. What begins as an invitation to church can sometimes become repeated messaging, unexpected visits, or continued persuasion, even after a clear and respectful “no.”

When Faith Crosses Into Pressure

Many former church members and observers describe a pattern; persistence framed as care and obligation to the faith. In some circles, declining an invitation isn’t seen as a final answer, it’s seen as an opportunity to try again later, or differently. The intention may be rooted in concern, but the impact can feel intrusive.

Online discussions among former evangelicals highlight this tension. One person described feeling that “pressure to ‘witness”, tells you to ignore your gut,” even when it feels inappropriate. Others point to a culture where saying no is interpreted as a boundary, but as resistance to be overcome.

The Boundary Problem

Healthy relationships, religious or not, depend on mutual respect. The issue becomes more complex outside of formal leadership. When everyday believers feel personally responsible for someone else’s spiritual outcome, boundaries can unintentionally erode.

This dynamic can lead to repeated invitations after refusal, emotional appeals tied to fear, guilt or salvation from eternal damnation, difficulty maintaining friendships without religious pressure, complete alienation, or…crucifixion, if you will.

When Persistence Becomes Harm

In more serious cases, experts warn that environments lacking clear boundaries can open the door to deeper issues. Some researchers and church reform advocates note that systems emphasizing authority, submission, or spiritual urgency can be misused, especially when accountability is weak. This doesn’t mean all evangelicals behave this way. Many respect boundaries fully. But when a culture prioritizes persuasion over consent, even good intentions can cause harm.

As someone who grew up in a family that outwardly sported a polished religious façade while damage unfolded behind the scenes at home, I entered adulthood without a clear understanding of what respectful boundaries looked like.

I became a young woman…and later a mother, navigating an aggressive, androcentric society while constantly questioning whether my “No” to anything was the right answer. Especially when that answer had so often been reprimanded or dismissed by others once it left my lips. The weight of that doubt rested heavily on my shoulders… yet the truth remained quietly tucked in my heart. something isn’t quite right.

A Growing Push for Change

There is an increasing call, both inside and outside the church, for a shift in how outreach is practiced. Some Christians, including ethicists like David P. Gushee, have advocated for a more compassionate, consent-based approach to faith conversations, one that centers dignity over persuasion.

At the same time, movements of former evangelicals have emerged, often citing boundary violations, spiritual pressure, and lack of autonomy as reasons for stepping away from church environments altogether.

Respect as a Two-Way Street

The solution isn’t silence, it’s respect. Sharing beliefs can be meaningful and welcome when it happens within mutual trust. But when someone says no, that boundary deserves to be honored without negotiation.

Because ultimately, faith, like any deeply held belief, loses its meaning when it’s no longer freely chosen.

Melanie A. Waits

Next Slide Studio

https://sites.google.com/view/melanieamandaart/home

Photo: Next Slide Studio

This is not about legitimate identification; not medical descriptions, not police reports, not missing person alerts where details serve a clear purpose. Those contexts rely on accurate descriptors for practical and necessary reasons. What raises concern is the casual, almost reflexive insertion of labels into everyday storytelling, commentary, and conversation where they add no factual value. Instead, they function like metaphorical “baggage” tags, subtly marking someone as belonging to a particular subcategory of humanity before anything else is known about them.

It prompts a question worth asking…what is the prelude for, exactly?

Is it meant to frame how listeners should interpret the story that follows? Is it a cue, conscious or unconscious, suggesting how much credibility, sympathy, or skepticism the person deserves? When unrelated identifiers lead the introduction, they stop being neutral descriptors and start becoming narrative instructions. They plant an impression before the facts have even arrived.

Language shapes perception. The order in which we present information matters. When a person is defined first by an attribute that has no bearing on the situation, it signals that the attribute is somehow essential to understanding them, even when it is not. Over time, this habit reinforces the idea that individuals are representatives of categories rather than complex human beings whose identities cannot be reduced to a single trait.

None of this requires malice to be harmful. Often, it is simply habit; a learned rhythm of speech absorbed from media, social discourse, and especially cultural norms. But habits, especially linguistic ones, quietly influence the way we think…and the more unquestioned they go, the more invisible their impact becomes.

What would happen if we reversed the order? What if character preceded category? The story would still be told. The facts would remain intact. But the listener would encounter a person, not a label.

Perhaps the goal is not to eliminate descriptors altogether; they have their place when they are relevant, meaningful, or necessary. The goal is awareness. To pause long enough to ask, does this detail help understanding, or does it simply frame perception?

Because when we place labels before stories, we risk letting the label become the story.

Melanie A. Waits

Next Slide Studio, LLC

Photo: Jacksonville, FL - Next Slide Studio, LLC

A soft, steady drumming in the background at times; fingers lightly dancing over piano keys and still that warm golden glow filling our place of refuge, shimmering against the stained glass backdrop.

It wasn’t church itself, or religion. It was the pure indulgence of the soul, just by pressing pause on the daily routine and letting the higher vibrations play in the foreground for a while.

By the last song, we were all surrounded, a capella voices in stereo sound; holding hands to surround and guard us from the outside world, if only for a moment.

Melanie A. Waits

Next Slide Studio

“…and that’s when you realize that they don’t really care. The moment something real and raw is happening, the eye contact goes away. The dominance dissipates and walks away with it’s tail between it’s legs, stammering away, head hung low. Knowing they can’t deal with me because they haven’t yet dealt with themselves. What a frightening thought. Stammer away to your safe space. The crowd of like-minded numbness, blindness, speechless white noise of modern day society. If it helps you survive, I respect that. As for me, I want to live. To feel every joyous chill bump raised by the frequencies of sound. To feel the sword run through my chest with each tragedy. To feel the intense fright of falling flat on my face, yet running blindly anyway. I want to continuously experience the curiosity of a child, and continuously gain the wisdom of my ancestors…”

-Melanie A. Waits

Next Slide Studio

I felt my eyes involuntarily widen as I realized how I’d forgotten the satisfaction I get with dipping a brush and smearing the pigment onto 140 lb. cold pressed paper. The cool, open air all around yet the cozy feeling of support warming me from within. Once I returned home, I casually sifted through the photos I snapped during class. You can feel the mellow vibes even through the black and whites. Look at us...the dreamers with watery colors dripping down into the grooves with each move, and the creator teaching the creatives; passing along the sacred skills built within and ready to surface. I studied the instructor. I’m glad it was this particular instructor, although, I can’t tell you exactly why at the moment. I just know I left feeling as light as a feather with mended feathered wings, carrying a heavy dose of creativity. Just what the Great Physician ordered. Build your foundation on the primary, absorb the splatter and let your heart be the backlight, projecting through, until the mess becomes a masterpiece.

Museum of Contemporary Art (MOCA)

Jacksonville, Florida

Jacksonville, Florida Artist and Educator, Theresa Cook

One-liner

Illustrate

A Heaven for me would be my bare feet pressed against a cool, clay ground

A trickling echo with crystal waters from snowcapped mountains, flowing down

With shades of blues, greens, grays and browns

And vivid pops of flowers scattered all around

The sound of soft, rhythmic beats and melodic harmonies

Sung by the familiar voices of our Most Cherished, and the Painted Buntings in the serene oak trees

At night, stars would lower, as though they’re on a clear string

Not as in diamonds, the same brilliance a diamond, nor any other jewel, could not bring

(Afterall, the luster of such wore off to me a long time ago

After being lusted and fought over, just for a percentage to show off their extra glow)

A vision to see microscopic views as big as the skies

And to see lightyears away, knowing the answers to your whys

Still remembering the past and all that I’ve overcome

How perfect would this place seem if I didn’t remember where I came from

A natural place, no artificially intelligent part

No questioning; the paper mâché walls of poetry are written by the human heart

A slight breeze, preferably a temp in the 70s

I’ll follow the grassy-walled path that leads to the seas

I’ll sleep on the silky sand, to the lull of whispering waves

Until the sun wakes me and wraps me in the golden warmth my skin craves

It may appall some and others might see

But this is my Heaven in my Imagery

Mount Mansfield

Stowe, Vermont

Mount Mansfield

Stowe, Vermont

Magnified (Coming 2026)

Fort Clinch State Park

Fernandina Beach, Florida

Yulee, Florida

Amelia Island, FL (2024)

https://www.melanieamandaart.com/home

Hilliard, FL 2024

Centre Street, Amelia Island, FL 2025

Fort Clinch State Park, Amelia Island, FL

Candlelight Tour/Member Appreciation 2025

https://www.melanieamandaart.com/home

Bourbon Street, New Orleans, LA

Amelia Island, FL

Chris Thomas with The Chris Thomas Project - Performing on the USS Orleck ship and Naval Museum - New Year’s Eve 2024

https://www.melanieamandaart.com/home

I’ve outrun the shame that didn’t belong to me, the labels I never asked for, and the voice that said I didn’t belong on the track. Every mile I post isn’t about bragging; it’s a thank you to my younger self for showing up anyway, and an open door for anyone who needs proof that starting over counts.

These days, I measure success in how a hard week becomes softer after a sunrise run. In the “family” and support I’ve gained from the running community; especially the ones cheering me on recently after knowing I was fighting to continue on after the sudden and tragic death of my caring, loving partner in life. I run because it reminds me I’m allowed to take up space, to try again, to keep going after others tried to bench me.

So if you see my updates, know they’re an invitation. We don’t have to be the fastest or the farthest. We just have to be the ones who keep moving. And on the days that old memories flicker, I pick up the pace, not to escape it, but to carry it differently. That’s my finish line now: choosing forward, one step at a time.

All you need to do is take the first step. Along the way, you’ll notice the ones on the sidelines, with the scowled faces and darting arrows of insult...and then, you’ll embrace the ones welcoming you at the finish line with cheerful applauses and gleeful smiles. I imagine entering the afterlife in the same manner. It’s the ones that are routing for you in life that keep those steps going and when we’re all at the finish line together, we celebrate each other, while the rest of the world is left to extinguish the fire we’ve run through.

Miles behind me, oceans ahead.

Even if you’re not a runner, I encourage you to attend a race as a spectator and ask the participants why they race. You might hear a story that carries you both. They’ll take home a medal and you may take with you a change of perspective. Every race bib has a because.

Lightyears Away

(2011 - Jacksonville, FL)

Escape from the radiance into austerity and see how well you fare.

Do you recognize yourself with warmth or look to escape the frigid nightmare?

Locale

(2024 - New Orleans, LA)

I went out to observe others and observed others observing others. I love strolling through downtown streets and browsing the gallery of scenes through each window frame. Capturing the moments being lived by fellow beings of all ages, races, personalities and belief systems...moving around, laughing, crying, hugging, dancing; unaware of the captivated viewers just outside of the scene.

All of Life’s a Stage

(2024 - Fernandina Beach, FL)

Under the dim light, even solitude becomes a performance no one sees.

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https://www.melanieamandaart.com/home

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Tip: Studio lighting isn’t about memorizing setups—it’s about designing shape, mood, and texture. Start simple, change one variable at a time, and take notes as you go. Dance around like a witch. Toss back a shot of spirits. Use your own creative magic to express your immortal essence. Go on. Creep yourself out.

Be alone in a time and space of what once was the dull hum of human voices, an occasional burst of laughter, movement in all directions, glances of soulful eyes and familiar scents of loved ones wafting by as they wander about. Where does your mind escape to? Who are you conversing with in your head while alone in the hollow void? Who do you suppose is thinking of you at that very moment? Are you thinking of loved ones that have passed on? Which of the departed would you imagine is present, their invisible ghost to chaperone you? Or are you thinking of the one(s) who are alive and well? Or perhaps someone you have yet to know, created from the heart? If you knew without a doubt that no one and nothing was around to cause any harm, what fears would you still be haunted by?

An early morning beach walk never disappoints. I feel honored to be one of the few to witness the unveiling of a new day, with new light, new shadows and the misty fog blotting out the remainder of night. Walking on the sodden, heavy sand through towering driftwood is otherworldly. On Blackrock Beach in Jacksonville, FL, it’s as though you’re sifting through smokey ashes of smoldering , immense embers. the eeriness is enchanting.