Filmmaker, author, artist, and cultural icon John Waters has spent more than five decades daring people to look at what they usually turn away from. Known for cult classics like Pink Flamingos, Polyester, and Hairspray, Waters made a career out of unsettling, challenging, and, ultimately, delighting audiences. On May 9, he brings his latest one-man show, The Naked Truth, to the Avalon Theatre in Easton.

As Waters describes it, the show is part stand-up, part cultural commentary, part confessional — and entirely new. “I rewrite it completely once every year,” he said. “It’s about everything — politics, fashion, movies, music, how to get on your parents’ nerves. All sorts of things.”

This year’s version salutes the “gender guerrilla generation” and the rapidly changing landscape of identity and sexuality. “It’s amazing how things have changed so quickly; it even startles me,” he said. “There is a whole new world out there. At the end of a date, you used to ask for a good night kiss. Now I read the young people strangle each other.”

Even for someone who made a name by pushing boundaries, the pace of social change today can feel dizzying. “There’s a whole new set of rules — and no trigger warnings anymore, because who are you going complain to?” he said.

But Waters made clear that The Naked Truth isn’t about shock for shock’s sake. “It’s easy to shock,” he said. “It’s much harder to surprise people and make them laugh. That’s what I do. All comedy is political. It’s protection. It’s how you fight back. It’s how you position yourself. Even fashion is political.” He added, “I’m not self-righteous. I make fun of the rules I live by.”

For some ticket holders at the Avalon show, there will also be a special stick-around for a post-show opportunity to take a selfie with the star and a “group therapy” session. As Waters explains, the therapy will be precisely what you might expect — and nothing like the real thing. “We have no shame here. We share different things,” he said. “Things they might not have been able to say in a regular Q&A. There are different neuroses and attractions, but they figure if anybody can understand, it’s me. And they’re generally right.”

When asked, Waters admitted he’s never attended real group therapy. “I always thought they’d tell others what I told them,” he said. “At my show’s group therapy, nothing is off limits. We say things you’re not supposed to say.” He added, “I’m the psychiatrist. I’m the defense lawyer. They’re the patients. They’re the filthiest people alive, not me.”

That perspective fits Waters’ lifelong fascination with outsiders — although, he said, even that definition has shifted. “I’m through with being an outsider. I want to be an insider now,” he said. “Everybody wants to be an outsider today. Instead, I want to screw things up from the inside — in a positive way.”

It’s an unexpected, if fitting, turn for someone whose early work was once banned, condemned, and reviled. Today, Waters is celebrated by some institutions that once shunned him. “I’m so respectable, I could puke,” he said. “Who would have ever thought the Academy Award museum would give me a 12-room show? Not to mention all these awards I’m getting — the Writers Guild Award, an editing award. It’s amazing to me.” 

It’s so amazing that Waters said he’s now addicted to receiving awards. “I miss the day when I was condemned by the Catholic Church, and they gave me all the bad reviews that I used in the ads,” he said. “Same movies, but people just take them a different way.”

Through all the shifts in reputation and audience, Waters said the core of his creative life remains the same. “I’ve written all my movies. I write my stand-up shows. I write books. I photograph,” he said. “Basically, though, I’m a writer. So, every day, Monday to Friday, I get up, think up weird things, and write between 8 am and noon. In the afternoon, I sell it. That’s what I do for a living.”

His latest novel, Liarmouth, came out of that same discipline. “I’m always in airports because I tour all the time,” he said. “So I wrote about a woman who steals suitcases. No, I never saw it happen — but it’s easy to do. And if you get caught, you pretend you picked up the wrong one.”

As for new undertakings, Waters says he constantly collects new material, jotting down ideas and observations in what he calls different “cubby holes” for future projects. “I’m never bored. I don’t understand how anybody can be bored. Just go watch people. There’s no reason to be bored. You only get one life. Pay attention.”

That attitude extends to how he stays plugged into contemporary culture. “I have youth spies that tell me new stuff that’s going on,” he said. “I hate people my age who say, ‘It was much better back in the day.’ No — it wasn’t. You’re just an old fart. They’re having just as much fun now. You’ve got to figure out what that fun is.”

Waters speaks about aging with the same defiance he once reserved for battling censors and critics. “Old chickens make good soup,” he said. (I had to remove the comment that followed this, but in true Waters fashion, you can probably guess it wasn’t Hallmark card material.)

Then again, if material ever runs short, Waters joked, there’s always hospice humor.
“Old queens, wrinkle queens — we’re all still telling stories.”

Asked if Baltimore continues to be a muse even though his fame has grown beyond his native home, Waters said. “Baltimore’s still my favorite city. It’s still the coolest city because it’s cheap — you can still have Bohemia there,” he said. “I think I give Baltimore pride. We humanize the city. We make it popular, he said, crediting other Baltimore storytellers, from Barry Levinson to The Wire creators, with continuing to frame the city through the lives of its citizens. “We all made it about the peculiar people,” he said. “That’s why people connect to it.”

With a body of work that has been dissected by critics, celebrated by institutions, and embraced by younger generations, I asked if he ever felt misunderstood. “No,” he said. I’ve been understood right from the beginning,” And as for misgivings, he said there was only one. “The only regret I have is smoking. I haven’t had a cigarette in 8,149 days. I write it down every day.”

This ability to track regrets while continuing to push limits is at the core of who Waters is. Asked if there was anything he turns away from, he didn’t hesitate. “Sure — racism, stupidity, homophobia, transphobia,” he said. “But at the same time, I try to figure out what causes that and make that person laugh so they’ll listen and maybe change their mind.”

For first-timers attending The Naked Truth, Waters offered a simple piece of advice:
“Don’t call the police,” he said. Still, he said most audiences know exactly what they’re getting into. “I do ask, ‘Are you on a first date? Good luck.’ It will either resolve in marriage, or it will be the worst date ever.” For me 45 years ago, it resolved in marriage. Thanks, John.

John Waters brings The Naked Truth to the Avalon Theatre on May 9. Tickets are available at avalonfoundation.org. And for those attending the post-show group therapy passes, bring your camera– and maybe an issue or two.

Long Reach Farm by Larry Horowitz

What if the earth could sing—and we stopped to listen?

That’s the idea behind Earth Music, a new exhibit opening April 4 at Spiralis Gallery in Easton. It combines the work of Dane Tilghman and Larry Horowitz—two painters with very different styles and backgrounds but with something in common—a shared connection to land, memory, and story.

Tilghman’s paintings often focus on the African American experience, pulling from the visual language of the Harlem Renaissance, blues and jazz, and old black-and-white photos. Horowitz paints landscapes—vivid, textured, and full of feeling. Spiralis Gallery owner Gail Patterson saw a kind of thread running through their work: not the same stories, but the same quiet force.

“I think the show—Earth Music—speaks volumes about how and what the earth could tell us if we listened,” said Patterson. “Joys and sorrows, beauty and horrors, history both known and silent, from both of their perspectives and brushes.”

When asked what Earth Music meant to him, Tilghman said. “I believe the earth definitely has a rhythm. “It’s a spiritual rhythm, I believe, also a very cultural rhythm, for sure.”

Horowitz came at it from another angle but landed in a similar place. “I’m very sensitive to the tides, the wind, the earth, nature, animals, birds—everything influences me when I’m out there and doing my painting,” he said. “So for me, ‘rhythm of the land’ is sort of my mantra. You might say it’s what I’m after when I paint.”

Patterson called the pairing “serendipitous… kind of ‘spiralis’-like,”—referring to the gallery’s name and the idea of things moving in a spiral formation. “Sometimes we’re close, and sometimes we collide in ways we don’t see,” she said.

That concept is alive in this exhibit and the artists, but, as Tilghman noted, both are rooted in something deeper. “I’m painting people,” he said. “Larry’s painting landscapes. But those people—I’m sure, have passed through those same landscapes. That’s the bridge, right there. I’m working from old black-and-white photos, and a lot of those folks are long gone. But they were there.”

Horowitz looked at it from the painter’s side. “A painting is made up of wooden stretchers, bars, linen canvas, hemp paint—all inanimate objects,” he said. “We take these physical things, and we manipulate them with shapes, tones, colors, and we make this inanimate art have a heartbeat. It becomes something much greater than the sum of its parts. And I think that’s what connects both of us.”

3 Boys and a Wagon Dane by Dane Tilghman

For Patterson, it wasn’t about finding two artists who do the same thing—it was about finding two who evoke the same response. “There was a commonality in the work for me as a collector and as a gallerist,” she said. “Both Dane and Larry’s work are highly evocative for me. I look at the landscapes Larry paints, and I can close my eyes and imagine the light changing, the leaves falling, and the breeze. I can feel who and what might have passed—person, raccoon, deer—through that landscape. Who might have been on that boat?”

Of one of Tilghman’s pieces, the Oyster Tonger, she said. “I look at him and wonder: is he out there because he wants to be, or because he has to be?”

“There’s a story in both of their work,” she said of the artists. “That’s what pulled me in.”

Horowitz talked about how painting, for him, isn’t just about a moment—it’s about the accumulation of moments. “I think of the Impressionists,” he said. “They tried to go after a moment in time. I paint the passage of time. While the painting is being painted—let’s say en plein air—the sky changes. A bird flies by. Someone walks into my picture plane. I put them in. Dane also is painting, in a way, the passage of time.”

Tilghman agreed that his work often highlights people history tends to overlook. “My philosophy is that these particular people might not be important in life now, but they were important to somebody,” he said. “So I want to honor their existence on earth.”

That presence shows in the work and in Patterson’s description of Tilghman’s Two in a Field. “It has almost a vague impressionist quality. It’s not exactly strictly figurative, like photographic. On the first pass, I think, my Lord, this is just beautiful. The colors speak to me,” she said. “And then I look deeper, and I realize it’s two Black Americans in times of enslavement, picking cotton with the cotton sacks trailing out behind them. I had to pause when I looked at that piece because it made me think—why was I experiencing such a beautiful feeling from something that was such a horror for our country?”

But that’s what makes interesting art, she said—the fact that it is story-driven, for instance, in Horowitz’s painting South Carolina Sunrise. “There are boats. And I wonder—did they just go out? Are they coming back? Who’s on board? What’s the story?”

Horowitz agreed. A painting is almost like an onion,” he said. “You look at it, and you might get that first facial reaction. Hopefully you fall in love—you separate yourself from the distresses of life. But then you bring it home, or you go back to look at it again in the museum or the gallery, and your mood changes. The world changes. We keep peeling those layers of the onion off.”

He added, “And I think it’s very true in Dane’s work, especially. Yes, he’s painting something from the past. Someone might see it as beautiful, decorative shapes and colors. But there’s just so much to it. There’s so much that Dane has put into it and so much that the viewer can bring to it. It’s not what you put in a painting—it’s what you leave out that’s so important.”

Tilghman said he hopes his paintings keep telling their own story long after they’re hung on a wall. “It should make me smile,” he said. “So it’s an eternal piece.”

Earth Music, then, is about stories. Not just art you look at, but art that asks you to stop—and listen.

The show opens with a meet-the-artists reception on April 4 and 5, from 5 to 7 p.m., at Spiralis Gallery in Easton. It runs through the end of April. Spiralis is located at 35 Dover St in Easton.

On November 30, the Stage @ OCC at the Oxford Community Center will host an evening with celebrated jazz trumpeter, vocalist, and composer Bria Skonberg. Known for her signature blend of New Orleans-inspired jazz, innovative compositions, and a warm stage presence, Skonberg’s performance at the OCC promises a unique, up-close experience where her expressive trumpet and soulful vocals will bring the room to life.

In a recent conversation, Skonberg shared insights into her musical journey, her passion for jazz, and what fans can expect from her upcoming show.

Skonberg’s road to jazz began in her hometown of Chilliwack, British Columbia, a small town that wasn’t exactly known for its jazz scene—that is, except for the Chilliwack Happy Times Jazz Festival that ran for over 20 years and focused on great, classic American, New Orleans roots of jazz. “I’m the product of a great public-school band program,” she said, “and the Festival did a really good job of incorporating the youth.” This introduction to jazz’s roots helped form Skonberg’s musical style. 

Though she initially began playing piano, she was drawn to the trumpet partially because her father had played it back in high school, and they happened to have one at home. She remembers being intrigued by its unique sound and appearance, describing how it looked “cool” and could produce “funny, interesting sounds.” Skonberg’s curiosity eventually grew into a passion for the trumpet, and although she acknowledges that it’s a challenging instrument, her fascination kept her going. “I think if you know how hard trumpet is, you won’t do it,” she says. “But by the time you’ve fallen in love with it and gotten obsessed with it, it’s too late to turn back.”

Now, that connection and obsession are almost inseparable from her identity as a musician. “The trumpet is fire you can articulate. You can have really bright, brassy sounds. And you can make it serene at the same time,” she says. It also allows her to express emotions beyond words. “I think all musical instruments are just extensions of our voices. But what’s beautiful is that you can communicate things when you don’t necessarily have the words for them, and that can go a long way these days.”

Skonberg’s music feels almost effortless as she combines her trumpet playing with her vocals, allowing her to explore a wide range of expression. “I love a beautiful melody that I can play on my trumpet and sing it as well,” she says. This dual approach lets her create a sound that balances lyrical beauty with gritty, grounded tones—something she plans to showcase at OCC, where she’ll perform a mix of her compositions and reimagined jazz standards.

In addition to performing, Skonberg has a deep commitment to music education. She grew up in a family of educators, and though her parents weren’t music teachers, their influence instilled in her a respect for learning and teaching. “Jazz is like a pay-it-forward art form. It gets passed down for generations. And so it’s just a joy and an honor when I get the chance to work with students and give it back,” she says. For young musicians, particularly those drawn to challenging instruments like the trumpet, she offers this advice: “Commit to the journey. You’re not going to get better overnight, necessarily, but you just want to be a little bit better than you were the day before.”

Skonberg sees the role of a jazz educator as someone who can introduce students to the foundational artists who shaped the genre. She makes a point to share the breadth of Louis Armstrong’s music with her students, emphasizing the six decades of his recordings. “I think that a lot of music education overlooks or speeds past the foundational roots of the music,” she says, explaining why she encourages her students to dive deeply into the music of jazz pioneers. Her music reflects this respect for tradition, especially her latest album, which draws heavily from New Orleans jazz and showcases her love for its percussive, joyful energy.

The songs on Bria Skonberg’s new album, What it Means, carry a sense of hope and resilience, reflecting her recent life experiences and the challenges of recent years. Among the album’s playful surprises is her cover of Sonny and Cher’s “The Beat Goes On,” a familiar tune with a jazz twist. “Many people know that song, but I put it over this hard bop ‘Sidewinder’ groove, which is really fun,” she says. By weaving together familiar songs with inventive arrangements, Skonberg creates moments that appeal to new listeners and offer “Easter eggs” for jazz fans alike.

This approach shines in intimate venues like The Stage @ OCC, where Skonberg can connect more closely with her audience. “I love when I can look into the eyes of audience members and see people,” she says. “With music, we’re storytelling, and I like to narrate my sets with some stories and share some things about myself.” Her storytelling makes each performance unique as she adjusts her set in response to the audience. “In an intimate space, I can watch and gauge listeners’ reactions, and that entertains me as well.”

One of the most personal pieces in her setlist is her arrangement of John Lennon’s “Beautiful Boy,” which she blends with Count Basie’s “Little Darlin’” as a tribute to her journey into motherhood. Skonberg says, “It’s like a lullaby for parents because parenthood is so hard, it’s such a challenge… but by that point, you’re just so full of love that the responsibility is welcomed.” Becoming a mother, she said, has expanded her emotional range and allowed her to connect with audiences on a deeper level, adding another dimension to her music.

Looking ahead, Skonberg is focused on keeping jazz alive through innovation and authentic self-expression. “That’s what keeps music fresh and unique; it is just being able to create off of real-world experiences,” she says. For Skonberg, each show, including her upcoming performance at THE Stage @ OCC, is a chance to connect through shared emotions and collective memories. “If I have a room of people for 90 minutes, and I can remind them that we all experience the same emotions, then I’ve done my part.”

Bria Skonberg’s performance at the Oxford Community Center on November 30 celebrates jazz, community, and connection. Her signature trumpet sound, soulful voice, and genuine love for sharing music will make this a night to remember. As Bria said, “It’s all about coming together and celebrating life through music. If not now, then when?” Tickets are available at http://oxfordcc.org, and Skonberg invites everyone to stay after the show to say hello and pick up a signed CD or vinyl. For those wanting a longer experience with the artist, VIP tickets are available and include a meet and greet, dessert and bubbly, front cabaret seating, and two drink tickets. 

Marcelo Antinori’s career path is anything but conventional. With a background in economics and decades of global experience in social and economic development, the Brazilian-born author has traded spreadsheets for storytelling, drawing on the places and people he’s encountered worldwide. His latest novel, The Seagull and the Spy, a sequel to The Condor’s Riddle, brings his characters into new adventures while preserving the spirit of the first novel.

Author Marcelo Antinori

Although Antinori currently resides in France, he maintains strong ties to Maryland’s Eastern Shore, where he also keeps a residence and works with local publisher Secant Publishing. This connection to Maryland is part of the larger fabric of his international life, which has profoundly shaped his writing. “Traveling through different countries and getting to know their cultures has broadened my understanding of people and places,” he says. 

In The Condor’s Riddle, Antinori introduced readers to a cast of eccentrics, expatriates, and marginal figures struggling to survive amid international intrigue, drug cartels, and the looming presence of Chinese and American embassies. Central to the story was the mystery of El Dorado and the fabled city’s protection by generations of Indigenous people. The novel brought to life a magical world populated by a French archivist with a photographic memory, a Chinese exotic dancer, a remorseful German terrorist, and a blind Indigenous child with an extraordinary gift of perception.

Diverse these characters may be, but what is more surprising is what Antinori says about them, “Believe it or not, they all exist.” While the characters in his books are often exaggerated or fictionalized, they are inspired by real people he’s encountered in his travels. “I have a passion for those who don’t fit the mold, for people who are a little bit weird or live on the margins of society,” he says. “They’re the ones who end up doing the most interesting things.”

These characters intrigued Antinori so much that he wasn’t quite ready to let them go. “When you finish a book, sometimes the characters are still alive in your head. You want to keep playing with them, seeing what they’ll do next,” he said. This time, Antinori introduced a fresh plot involving an abandoned apartment with a mysterious past. “The idea came to me in a dream,” he says. “I had no idea what the story would be, but I started playing with the characters again. The thing is, when you know your characters well enough, you can put them in any situation—like a market or a confrontation—and just see what happens.”

The process of writing for Antinori is playful, even experimental. “Sometimes you develop a story, and it’s boring,” he says. “So I usually invent something completely absurd at this moment. Sometimes I create an accident, sometimes someone dies, and I have to reconstruct the story with this unexpected event.” To Antinori, that’s part of the fun. 

Another aspect is the author’s ability to mix actual historical elements with fiction. In The Seagull and the Spy, a Hungarian character who once played violin for Hitler becomes entangled with Che Guevara’s German mistress, a story that pulls from real historical figures but stretches into the realm of imagination. “Only about 10% of what I write is not true,” Antinori says, quoting the Brazilian poet Manuel de Barros. “The rest, I invented.”

Invented or not, Antinori’s fascination with diverse characters stems from his multicultural upbringing. Born in Brazil to an Italian family, he has worked extensively throughout Latin America, Africa, and Asia, “My characters are international,” he says, “because I feel I am international.” 

But if you’re expecting a particular message or deep commentary, Antinori’s goal is more straightforward: he just wants to entertain. “I want to tell a good story,” he says. “I’m not interested in making profound statements. Everything that needed to be said has already been said. I’m here to entertain. I don’t like to be considered an artist. I’m an entertainer. He is acutely aware that his work stands apart from more serious literary pursuits, but he doesn’t mind. “I think readers today are looking for something to relax with,” he says. “And if my stories can offer that escape, then I’ve done my job.”

As for what’s next, Antinori is already at work on several new projects, including a novel set in Paris and another based on his travels in Japan. He also hopes to continue working with Salisbury-based publisher Ron Sauder from Secant Publishing, with whom he’s had great success. “Ron and I met many years ago, and he’s been fantastic. He takes the time to edit thoroughly, which is crucial for me since English isn’t my first language.”

Although he currently resides in France, Antinori maintains a solid connection to the Eastern Shore of Maryland, where he hopes to return regularly. “The quiet beauty of the Eastern Shore is inspiring in its own way,” he says, noting the contrast between Maryland’s peaceful landscapes and his novels’ vibrant, often chaotic settings.

He’s already planning a visit in January, including a possible book signing at the Easton Public Library. As he returns to the place that’s become one of his many homes, Marcelo Antinori’s journey as a novelist continues to unfold—one story at a time, one unexpected and playful twist after another.

Like many artists, Erdmann “Oerdy” Hummel is a man whose life and art are deeply intertwined. But his story is also a journey through politics and personal resilience that many don’t get to nor would want to experience. To hear him speak is to get caught up in the intensity of his past, the present of an artist committed to his craft, and a future of hope.  It’s to be invited on a trip from East Germany’s Communist regime to one of international acclaim as an artist and a journalist. 

Oerdy’s latest works feature zebras with vibrant, colorful stripes. For him, these zebras are symbols of individuality and joie de vivre, a spirited representation of life’s complexities and the beauty of embracing them, a far cry from the black-and-white thinking he grew up fighting against. 

Reflecting on his choice of subject, Oerdy says, “I love zebras. They are a symbol of freedom to me. Each of these animals is different. Their stripes are individual. Also, zebras are herd animals like humans, and there are many secrets about these zebras.”

It’s a message that resonates deeply with Susan Schauer John, owner of the Zebra Gallery. “I met Oerdy earlier this year through Richard Marks and Amy Haines, who invited him to do a show at the Out of the Fire Restaurant. I immediately fell in love with the work and, of course, the meaning of the work. It’s a 100% fit with the Zebra Gallery and our mission.”

Oerdy’s life story is as striking as his art. Growing up in East Germany, he learned early on that art could be a powerful tool for self-expression and defiance. After multiple attempts to escape the Communist regime, he finally found freedom when the Berlin Wall came down. He then pursued a career in journalism, reporting from some of the world’s most dangerous crisis zones, including Afghanistan, Iraq, and Gaza. Even while documenting these intense experiences, Oerdy never stopped painting. “My personal history is deeply embedded in my art,” he said. “When I was in prison, I thought about freedom and how to get it, and what would I do for my own freedom. Art became a means of resistance, a way to say things that couldn’t be spoken aloud.”

It’s a sentiment that Schauer John understands well. “What I love about Oerdy’s work is that it’s not just beautiful—it’s meaningful. He uses materials like aluminum cans he’s collected at war zones worldwide. That’s amazing, and the symbolism involved in that speaks volumes. I particularly love his style and his work, but more importantly, the meaning behind it, and for me, that richness matters.”

In one of his pieces, a zebra is painted in the yellow and blue of the Ukrainian flag, its body pressing through a wall marred by symbols of oppression. Oerdy explains, “I painted this piece after Russia invaded Ukraine. The zebra, with its yellow and blue stripes, is a symbol of hope breaking through darkness.” It also rejects the black-and-white mindset he associates with authoritarian regimes. “Colors give me hope. The world isn’t black and white. The world is colorful.”

For Schauer John, Oerdy’s art is a profound example of how creativity can bridge cultural divides and speak to universal themes. “Art has this incredible ability to connect us. No matter where we come from, we all understand loss, hope, and resilience,” she says. “What I’d like people to take away from seeing his work is a sense that art is a way to reflect and appreciate all that is around us and all that we’re capable of and how we all share this life on the planet. I think there’s a language in art, whether a painting or a sculpture, that transcends language differences, and I think art brings us together in that way.”

Oerdy’s admiration for American culture is another thread woven throughout his life and work. Growing up under the shadow of the Berlin Wall, he was captivated by American jazz, pop art, and films. “American culture showed me what freedom looked like,” he says. “

When asked what he hopes to leave behind, Oerdy is humble. “I don’t think about that too much. I just enjoy creating art.” Schauer John, however, has no doubt about the lasting impact of his work. “It’s an honor to host an international artist like Oerdy,” she says. “Now, when we’re feeling somewhat divided, it’s important to have perspective, and I think Oerdy brings that, having grown up in East Berlin and gone through what he’s gone through, to be here now is really a sentiment to appreciate what we have. ” 

Through the end of the month, Oerdy’s works are on display at the Zebra Gallery in Easton as part of the Evolutionary Art and Artists series. But Schauer John says that she will continue to exhibit Oerdy’s work and encourage visitors to look beyond the black and white, to experience his journey of courage, creativity, and the belief in the power of art to break down barriers—both literal and metaphorical and to dare to see the world in vivid color.

The Zebra Gallery is located at 5 N. Harrison St. in Easton, MD.
Hours:  Thurs – Sat. 11 – 5 pm,  Sun. 11-4 pm