From clown drag shows to literary readings to hiking groups, Baltimore has an ever-growing queer programming ecosystem

I came into my queerness in earnest during the beginning of the pandemic, and I still think that’s a bit of a shame. Details of my own wobbly and complicated relationship with gender notwithstanding, it wasn’t until I was living in an all-queer house in early 2021 that I even started to gain the language and space for the ways I felt. This is to say that so much of the way I experience queerness now is driven by community, and coming out during a time when much of the world was in isolation felt odd. 

I think this series of events feels particularly odd now in hindsight, when I look around and see an ever-growing queer community in the city around me, from dance parties to drag houses to meetups and speed dating events. There are a lot of ways to be queer, and I feel thankful to live in a city that embraces so many of them. In recent years, many queer event programmers in Baltimore, myself included, have focused their efforts toward putting on a diverse array of specialized parties, social hours, and other queer-centric events.

Proxima Arcanum, a bimonthly outdoor reading, performance art show, and market at Current Space, is one of many events that have popped up with the goal of creating a specific, curated space for the local queer community. The event folds many different communities together with a focus on esoteric and speculative writing — writing that extends beyond traditional literary “realism” as we understand it — and the aura is always at least a bit otherworldly. This makes sense considering that the event is co-hosted by local poet and musician JB Aris and D.C.-based publisher and writer dave ring, both of whom tend toward the speculative in their own practices. After dipping their toe into the event hosting world several years ago, Aris sought out ring’s partnership shortly thereafter to make Proxima Arcanum a reality.

“I had never not been the only queer person on a reading in Baltimore, unfortunately,” Aris contextualized. “And I’d almost always been the only speculative writer, so I thought it would be kind of cool to have something like that. And it just became obvious that dave would be the best partner for that, because he publishes queer speculative fiction.”

“It felt impossible to say no,” ring elaborated.

What initially started as a “queer, witchy reading” blossomed into a regular series and soon began incorporating performance art and vendors. With the series now in its fourth season, Aris and ring continue to lean into the weird and wonderful, often tapping performance artist Aris’ extensive network of peers for one-of-a-kind acts. This feels more important than ever as forces outside of ourselves and our communities try to silence queer voices.

“I think anywhere that queer people are gathering is inherently political,” Aris said. “There’s also, of course, a politicized element of nontraditional spirituality that I think a lot of queer people resonate with. I think there are just these ready metaphors for alterity and for otherness very much available in the hidden and spiritual world. The otherworldly element is, in a way, an invitation for people to engage with a rich tapestry of metaphor in the otherworldly and speculative that can speak to othered or hidden experiences.”

“I’ve often felt in the various places that I’ve done both queer and literary event organizing, the idea of the LGBTQ community as a monolith continues to be a myth, and it’s important to celebrate the varied groups, populations, and folks that are a part of that community,” ring added. 

Even outside of the literary world, this idea is bullshit — one look at the drag scene, for example, shows a number of new drag artists who have come up in recent years, to include a wide variety of expressions. Drag artist Nell Arnett, known on stage as nonapplicabl, is relatively new to this scene, having moved to Baltimore in 2023 for graduate school. Still, he has already made a big splash as Mx. Mixers 2025 and co-founder of the new Queer Clown House drag collective.

“I came here specifically for the community arts program at MICA because I wanted to be someone who made space for queer people,” Arnett said. “And going to a lot of drag events, I wanted to make my own space, something ‘clown-catered,’ or focused on being very whimsical. I just like that DIY spirit — being very silly, a little weird.”

The idea for Queer Clown House came from the New York-based Clown Cult, which inspired Arnett to organize a clown rave. This quickly turned into a desire to host more events in a similar vein, and thus, Queer Clown House was born in collaboration with fellow local drag artist Harley Noah. Now the drag house has shows booked as far out as Halloween, including a collaboration with Bmore Horror.

“I try to embody ‘joy as a form of resistance,’” Arnett explained. “I’m of the firm belief that queer activism isn’t just making sure queer people exist and survive, but also thrive and have fun and play. The whole point of clowns are to make you smile and laugh, and to be satirical, especially when day-to-day life for queer and trans people is hard enough. And so I want to make spaces where, even for just a bit, we can forget about that and focus on having fun.”

“Niche” was a word that came up several times while interviewing organizers, and this is certainly true of both Proxima Arcanum and Queer Clown House. These spaces came to be because their founders wanted a space that fit their unique interests, and they attracted a thriving community. This can also be said of Bri Murray and her organization, Lez Black Gurls, which started hosting social events for Black lesbians after Murray found nothing specifically catered to her community in Baltimore.

“I was going to events in D.C., and I was meeting people from Baltimore — we realized that we were going to D.C. because we didn’t have anything to do in Baltimore. For me, starting Lez Black Gurls was about doing events that I would want to go to as a Black lesbian. There were other spaces, but nothing where I really felt like myself, or very comfortable. Now, people are moving to Baltimore, and these events are their first experience making friends and building community. There’s an ease to it.”

Murray didn’t have big intentions when she started hosting these events, which she describes as centered away from nightlife and partying. She quickly realized the demand for a space like hers, and is now in her third year of hosting events. As a newly-registered nonprofit, a long-term goal is for most (if not all) Lez Black Gurls events to be free, but for the moment, Murray still aims to keep her events accessible, with everything she hosts offered either for free or under $15. The events range from singles mixers and happy hours to hikes and yoga.

“I don’t think I viewed hosting these events as activism in the beginning, but now it feels very meaningful, and I’m not afraid to say that this space exists because there is nothing in Baltimore like it,” Murray elaborated.

So much of what makes Baltimore’s queer community richly multifaceted is our desire to make something where we see nothing, to occupy a space ourselves because we wanted to see someone occupy it. There is an ever-growing queer programming ecosystem in the city, and as a millennial queer, this excites me deeply. I feel that our genuine diversity of events and programming is a huge part of where Baltimore earns its reputation as a city of artists and creative, changemaking thinkers. To me, it is clear evidence that the queer community here is thriving, even amid national uncertainty.