Trying to describe in just a few lines the life and importance of Denis Kitchen for American comics (and, by extension, worldwide) is not an easy task, because it is like trying to tell the story of many different people and many different eras. Born and raised in Wisconsin, comics have accompanied him since childhood: at just thirteen he began publishing his first self-produced school works. In founding student and university newspapers, his future was already evident—eclectic, combative, and irreverent.
At a time when American counterculture was at its peak, amid struggles for civil rights and against the Vietnam War, the cultural ground was ready for the birth and growth of a new genre of comics. The founding of Kitchen Sink Press was a key turning point for underground comix, publishing works by authors such as Jim Mitchell (co-founder with Kitchen of the underground newspaper The Bugle-American), Bruce Walthers, Don Glassford and Wendel Pugh, as well as Robert Crumb, Art Spiegelman, Justin Green, Trina Robbins, S. Clay Wilson and Howard Cruse. Kitchen entrusted Howard Cruse with the editorial direction of Gay Comix, the first anthology with LGBTQ+ themes created by queer authors—a milestone not only in comics, but also in the broader struggle for rights in the United States.
The late 1970s and the decline of the counterculture era did not mark the end of Kitchen and his publishing house, but rather a transformation. In the 1980s he published other legendary authors such as Will Eisner, Harvey Kurtzman, Al Capp, Mark Schultz, Monte Beauchamp and Charles Burns. In the 1990s, the merger with Kevin Eastman’s Tundra Publishing and the move to Massachusetts marked yet another transformation, with the publication of works by Alan Moore, Neil Gaiman, James O’Barr, Don Simpson and Scott McCloud, often accompanied by Eisner and Harvey Award wins. Despite closing in 1999, Kitchen never stopped working in comics—becoming an art agent and handling the sales of originals, writing books, and curating an imprint, Kitchen Sink Books, launched within Dark Horse in 2013.
Another fundamental contribution by Kitchen was the founding, in 1990, following a case of censorship and the conviction of a comic shop owner, of the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund, a non-profit organization that still today works in various ways to defend cartoonists, comic shop owners, and others involved in different kinds of legal disputes.
Now, in excellent shape at nearly eighty years old—dedicated to drawing illustrations and caricatures, talking with fellow cartoonists, and selling his books—we met Denis Kitchen at the Munich Comic Festival: an overwhelming force and an inexhaustible desire to share his story, his path, his moments of struggle and pride, while also reflecting on contemporary comics.
Good morning, Mr. Kitchen. Before delving into your long and glorious career, I would like to start at the beginning, namely where your love for comics originated and what prompted you, in 1969, to start self-publishing your comics.
I was a child of the 1950s in Midwest America. TV was in its infancy. From early on, comic books and newspaper comics were my primary source of entertainment. I consumed as much as I could, especially by trading comics with neighborhood kids. I avidly read humor comics, horror, superhero, science fiction, almost every genre. I couldn’t get enough. From an early age I also began drawing cartoons. Starting at the age of thirteen I produced an ongoing publication called Klepto that I sold to classmates in grade school and high school. At college I drew a regular strip and illustrations for the weekly student newspaper, and cofounded Snide, the university’s first humor magazine. When I graduated, with a degree in journalism, in 1968, I decided to pursue a career in cartooning, knowing there was only a small chance of success. But America’s growing counter-culture was taking hold. A generation protesting the Vietnam War was also demanding woman’s rights, gay rights, racial justice, and the legalization of marijuana and movement became a significant force in pockets all over the country. My first self-published comic book, Mom’s Homemade Comics, sold out its first edition of 4,000 copies, mostly in my own neighborhood within a couple of months. Suddenly I had the confidence to take on anything.
As I mentioned earlier, I used the term legend for a reason: you were one of the main protagonists of the great era of underground comics. What do you remember about that period, especially in the beginning, with the first comics published and then the founding of Kitchen Sink Comics?
It’s easy to look back at the “hippie” movement as naïve, but there was a genuine feeling of comradeship, of hope, of cooperation, and a sense that we could make the world a better place. On our small scale, with underground comix, the idea was to create comix aimed at a peer audience, and to do so with an egalitarian approach. By default, I quickly became a publisher (Kitchen Sink Press) but I never stopped drawing part-time and self-identifying as an artist. I was also acutely aware that mainstream comic book publishers offered a poor role model. So, I started by rejected that pre-existing publisher/artist relationship by applying the Golden Rule: making sure artists owned their own copyrights and returning their original art. I also believed artists should be paid on a royalty basis, not a flat page rate, and that accountings should be transparent and reliable. The philosophy was that we couldn’t change society overnight, but we could control how to operate our little corner of it, and then perhaps our fresh approach could influence or impact the larger culture. Those early years were sometimes an economic struggle, with long hours and hard work, but it was nonetheless an exciting era. It was an incredible experience to engage with so many talented young fellow creators, to publish whatever I wanted, and to create an alternative distribution system (Krupp Distribution) that could sell tens of thousands of copies of our crazy comix with the proceeds shared equitably.
It was a time when comics were part of a great cultural ferment, a liberation of customs and an affirmation of rights: how did comics fit into this great fresco and what was their impact on the world? Did you have the perception that what you were doing had this impact?
The quick popularity of underground comix defied our expectations. I soon became aware that our audience—call it disaffected youth—felt truly alienated from the dominant culture and its political and economic structure, and they largely mistrusted or ignored mass media. Aside from perhaps Rolling Stone that focused on the music scene, or how-to manuals like The Whole Earth Catalog, they had only the weekly alternative newspapers that sprang up in most major cities and college towns, and they had underground comix. The weeklies were an important cultural connector (I co-founded one in Milwaukee), but they focused primarily on local issues and politics. The underground comix became a universal connection between hippies, whether they were living in metropolitan areas or in communes from northern California to Alabama, or students scattered across the continent. We also knew that most of our readers were probably smoking weed and that became another connecting—or even ritualistic—element of comix. I can’t say there was a particular moment in time when we realized we were having a significant impact; it was more of a gradual awareness. We began getting more and more enthusiastic fan mail, and head shop owners were telling us how enthusiastic their comix customers were. And certain prolific cartoonists, like Robert Crumb and Gilbert Shelton, were becoming rock stars in that world.
In this sense, one of the milestones in your publishing house’s work was the publication of Gay Comix, edited by Howard Cruse. This was in 1980, and it was the first anthology created by explicitly gay authors. What kind of memories do you have of that series and its editor?
Howard Cruse was an artist I had repeatedly published in the 70s. I found his droll wit very appealing. I noticed that Headrack, a recurring character in his Barefootz comics, was both an artist and gay. I thought this might not be a coincidence and so I asked him if Headrack was an autobiographical element. Howard then confided to me that he was a closeted gay man. Soon afterward I suggested to him that there ought to be a comix anthology for gay cartoonists, and he could ideally edit it. His first response was that if he was “outed” it could ruin his freelance illustration career, but after some reflection he agreed to become involved. I thought it very brave of him to do so. The funny thing is that neither of us knew any other gay cartoonists, so I proposed we send an invitation form letter to every creator in my address book. That strategy worked: it pulled quite a few others out of the closet and before long Gay Comix became a reality, and from all accounts, it had a major impact on that subculture.
Today, even mainstream comics have introduced LGBTQ+ characters, and there are many more authors of various sexual orientations.
That’s certainly the case. I’m delighted to observe this now universal trend.
Kitchen Sink Press has published some of the greatest North American (and global) comic book artists, such as Howard Cruse, Robert Crumb, Art Spiegelman, Justin Green, Trina Robbins, and S. Clay Wilson, and later legends such as Will Eisner, Harvey Kurtzman, Al Capp, and even a young Charles Burns. Do you have any anecdotes about any of them, one that particularly struck you, or one you are particularly fond of?
Gosh, there are so many possible anecdotes. I guess the one that sticks with me the most, because it was so unexpected, was how I met Will Eisner in 1971. I was attending my first comic book convention, in New York City, at the invitation of impresario Phil Seuling. Kitchen Sink was only a couple of years old at that point. I was looking through a dealer’s boxes when Maurice Horn, the French comics historian, noticed my badge and said, “Mr. Will Eisner wants to speak to you.” I assured him that he must be mistaken, but Maurice persisted. Finally, I agreed to follow him, certain there was a misunderstanding, but at least, for a moment, I would get to meet an already living legend. But when we got to Will’s hotel suite he said, “Phil told me all about you. I want to know about this alternative publishing system you have!”
So, for quite a while, Will peppered me with questions: “Do you really wholesale your comics on a non-returnable basis? What is your wholesale network comprised of? Your artists really own their own copyright? Do you return all their artwork? How does your royalty system work? Are your comix completely uncensored? …etcetera.” When I tried to ask him questions I had about comics in “the old days,” he quickly deflected. He had a genuine interest in this new business model, which ran completely counter to the model he worked under in the 1930s and 40s. He expressed genuine curiosity about what my generation of renegade cartoonists was up to. Finally, he confessed that he had never actually seen an underground comic, so we went to the dealer’s room where Phil himself had several long tables displaying nearly every underground in print at that time.
My intention was to hand pick an example or two but before I could intercede, Will picked up Zap #2 and turned to a page by S. Clay Wilson in which Captain Pissgums had just sliced off the dick of another pirate and was about to eat it, proclaiming, “The head tastes best.” Will looked like he had just bitten into a sour lemon. I suddenly realized the theory of undergrounds he found attractive had just met a generational mind block. He quickly put the Zap back, and despite the best efforts of me and a young Artie Spiegelman who happened to be standing there, he walked away. I thought that I would never see him again.
Fortunately, I had his business card in my pocket. When I got back to Milwaukee I wrote Will a letter, pointing out that he had picked an example from an extreme edge, and I enclosed half a dozen or so samples that I thought he might consider giving a second look to. He wrote back that he had indeed enjoyed the new samples, and from that point a very long personal and business relationship ensued.
Another of your fundamental contributions to the world of US comics was the creation of the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund. How did this initiative come about and what, in your opinion, are the greatest achievements of this non-profit organization?
In the late 1980s Friendly Frank’s, a comics shop in a suburb of Chicago, was busted for “displaying obscene material.” The manager was arrested and faced a significant fine and months of imprisonment if convicted. One of the seized items was Omaha the Cat Dancer, a series I published and was very proud of. It had erotic content but was also quite literate, with complex characters and plots. I was especially annoyed because one of the arresting police officers was quoted in the local newspapers as saying the store contained many “satanic” products. Since no laws reference Satan, the cop was clearly a religious fanatic who was imposing his personal notions of right and wrong on a comics retailer. The shop’s owner assured me he hired an attorney and everything was under control. But the lawyer he selected made some serious mistakes and the manager was convicted.
At that point I became very upset and was determined to reverse the conviction. I started the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund (CBLDF) by creating a fund-raising portfolio, enlisting artists like Will Eisner, Robert Crumb, Sergio Aragones, Richard Corben, Frank Miller, Reed Waller (the Omaha artist), myself, and several others. I convinced my printer to print the portfolio “at cost,” and persuaded my distributors to not add their margin, and when the maximum revenue came in, I hired the best First Amendment attorney I could find (Hugh Hefner’s own lawyer). We managed to overturn the conviction on appeal. With the money that remained I decided to keep the CBLDF permanent, turning it into a 501-(c)-3 non-profit organization. I created a rotating board of directors and chaired it for the first eighteen years. It’s still going strong and protecting the industry—mostly retailers—from efforts at censorship and repression. We win most of the cases we fight and, just as important, the CBLDF has an educational program that advises retailers on the smartest way to display comics aimed at mature readers so as to avoid potential confrontations with local authorities.
How relevant is the CBLDF today and what are its battles in the world of contemporary comics?
The CBLDF was formed in the pre-internet era, when the most common challenge was a retailer like Friendly Frank’s being busted for displaying or selling objectionable material. Today, the proliferation of online comics, and the rise of online retailing, and easy online access, allows a resourceful child to bypass age restrictions. That’s a quick example of a contemporary challenge. We also now live in an era where graphic novels are routinely in libraries, which is a good thing. But that proliferation and access means we’ve also seen examples of book removals and the banning of books in both public and school libraries. As the political climate becomes increasingly polarized in America, it’s not difficult to forecast more dark clouds on that horizon.
Even today, in 2025, there are comics that are banned in schools and libraries. Why, in your opinion, are comics still feared?
Well, to begin, it says something about the power and effectiveness of many graphic novels that the stories can create such an emotional and political backlash. The people who are motivated to restrict what you and I should read seem triggered most easily by imagery more than words. For a quick example, we had a situation in, I think, the state of Tennessee a couple years back where parents tried to remove and ban Maus from school libraries because a panel showed a naked mouse in a gas chamber. A naked mouse! The Pulitzer-prize winning graphic novel is about the historical horrors inflicted in Nazi death camps, and the objection was to a naked mouse. Sometimes it boggles the mind to try to understand the thought process of those who wish to censor.
Now that you have reached 50 years spent in comics, what do you consider your greatest source of pride? And how do you see the state of comics, from a cultural and commercial point of view, in 2025?
Well, it’s closer to sixty years at this point! There are many things I’m proud of looking back. I feel very lucky to have become a personal friend of so many amazing creators and to have had the honor of publishing some their work. It’s wonderful enough to have worked closely with those of my own generation, but especially to work closely with my heroes from a previous generation, like Eisner, Harvey Kurtzman, Milton Caniff and others. Publishing Eisner’s groundbreaking A Contract with God and fifteen or so other titles by him, not to mention The Spirit, is an absolute career highlight, as is Kurtzman’s Jungle Book, Hey Look!, and Goodman Beaver, that were early personal inspirations.
Among contemporaries, publishing Scott McCloud’s Understanding Comics is a particular source of pride, knowing the wide impact that title has had on creators and readers alike. I consider Robert Crumb to be a true genius, so publishing so many of his titles—and products—is quite meaningful. Likewise, I am proud to have produced From Hell by Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell; Xenozoic Tales by Mark Schultz; anthologies like Twisted Sisters and Gay Comix; and Charles Burns’ Black Hole. I’ll stop there, but there are so many. It’s been a most satisfying career on many levels. That said, I’m still not done. I’ve essentially retired from comics, but I’ve come full circle and am now drawing more than ever and writing and creating other art projects.
As to the state of comics today, I’m impressed with the proliferation of titles, signifying how many creators are out there producing work at what seems like a record pace, both on the independent level I follow most closely, and titles from the big comics houses and mainstream publishers. I tend to avoid the big conventions now and prefer attending or exhibiting at indie shows like SPX, MICE, and CXC. I’m also just back from the Munich Comics Festival where I brought back a big stack of wonderful European graphic novels.
But I also observe, sadly, that the vast majority of domestic cartoonists I interact with have a tough time making a living in comics. It takes a tremendous effort in sweat and time to create most graphic novels, and in the congested marketplace we have, most titles sell only modestly. To complicate matters, in America, the longtime dominant distributor Diamond, an organization so many depend on, went down in flames recently. Thus, the industry’s essential business structure, as we speak, seems rather uncertain. So, while this is a rather precarious time for the industry at large, I’m simultaneously seeing more talent than ever producing truly beautiful and moving work. I sincerely hope the market expands, that more readers are drawn to books with words and pictures, and more comics creators can be rewarded for their efforts.
Interview started in person and concluded via email in July 2025.
Thanks to Heiner Lundstedt and the organizers of the Munich Comic Festival.
Denis Kitchen
Member of the “underground comix” movement of the late 1960s, he founded Kitchen Sink Press (1969–99), one of the leading independent publishing houses. In 1986 he also founded the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund, a non-profit organization which he chaired for 18 years. His literary and art agencies represent numerous artists and estates. He is co-author of biographies of three cartoonists: Al Capp (Bloomsbury), Harvey Kurtzman (Abrams), Harrison Cady (Beehive), and of Underground Classics (Abrams). Among the books about him are the monograph The Oddly Compelling Art of Denis Kitchen (Dark Horse) and Everything Including the Kitchen Sink by Jon Cooke. He curates comics exhibitions in the United States and Europe and lectures widely. He has won numerous Harvey and Eisner Awards. Kitchen was inducted in the first ballot into the Will Eisner Hall of Fame, received a Life Achievement Award from the Museum of Wisconsin Art, has had several solo exhibitions, and in 2024 was awarded an honorary doctorate from the University of Wisconsin. His latest book, Creatures From the Subconscious (Tinto Press), will be followed by a book of 3D drawings published by Fantagraphics in 2025. Kitchen is the subject of a documentary film, Oddly Compelling, scheduled for release in 2026. It is also said that he is part of the secret Bushmiller Society.
