Imagine meeting a comic book legend — the kind of figure whose work lives on shelves, in history books, and in the DNA of the medium itself. You get the courage to walk up to him at a convention table, your heart speeding up as you debate whether to ask for a picture, a signature… or something bigger. Then he smiles, nods, and agrees to an interview over Zoom (Which you can watch HERE).
That’s how I met Denis Kitchen at MICE (Massachusetts Independent Comics Expo).
I grew up on Marvel, DC, Image, and an internet full of interesting content to consume, but Denis comes from a time when comics lived in newspapers, corner drugstores, and underground head shops. He helped publish icons like Will Eisner, Harvey Kurtzman, and Robert Crumb. He fought for creator rights when the industry thought it didn’t have to listen. His impact on the comics industry has been influential for generations of comic book creators.
Sitting across from Denis on the Zoom call felt surreal. He shared stories about the rise of graphic novels, the wild freedom of underground comix, what it means to own your work, and why the small press scene is still the heartbeat of the industry. He gave advice I’ll be carrying with me for years — the kind that makes you keep writing even when you’re tired and believe in yourself a little harder.
If you love comics — whether you already know Denis or you’re hearing his name for the first time — this conversation will inspire you. You’ll learn what the industry looked like before it was glossy, how artists carved space without permission, and how much the future still belongs to people like us creating art from scratch.
This is how my conversation with Denis Kitchen went.
Q&A: IN CONVERSATION WITH DENIS KITCHEN
Early Days & Falling in Love with Comics
Matthew: I grew up with Marvel, DC, Image, and webcomics. What were comics like when you were a kid?
Denis:
I grew up in the 1950s when comic books were disproportionately available and visible, and virtually every kid — and some adults, closeted adults — were reading them. Most families got at least one daily newspaper thrown on their doorstep, and virtually all of those papers had a comic strip section.
So I grew up when newspapers were healthy and vigorous, and so were comic strips. And of course comic books, their cousin, would be on those swirling racks in every drugstore and variety store. I had a steady dose of comics that inspired me. It ran the whole gamut from the funny stuff I liked the best to the adventure things most boys loved, but I also loved Uncle Scrooge by Carl Barks, Little Lulu, the offbeat titles. I liked the horror comics, some of the crime comics.
Matthew: When did you start thinking, “Maybe I could actually do this”?
Denis:
Like most kids, I drew and I enjoyed drawing, and I began to feel I had a certain ability for it, that cartooning might someday be a vocation. But at every step I was told by teachers, counselors, and relatives that it was an impossible thing. Nobody knew a cartoonist. It would be like saying, “I want to act on Broadway.” Good luck. Not realistic for a kid growing up in Wisconsin.
Matthew: Did any teacher or early experience really push you forward instead of shutting you down?
Denis:
As early as 2nd grade, I was caught showing my homemade comics to classmates. I thought I was going to be punished. Instead, the teacher said, “Come to the front of the class and read it to everybody,” which was very smart of her. It gave me a little more confidence to keep doing it.
All teachers should be aware that if someone in their class is trying to make people laugh — with a joke, a cartoon, acting out — patience and curiosity about what that student is trying to say can be a pivotal moment in that kid’s development.
If you have a fascination or passion for something early on and you steadily pursue it, you will get better at it. I’m glad I started in 2nd grade and didn’t have to wait until high school. With every passing month and year, you get a little better at making that pen make the lines you want it to.
First Publishing Experiments
Matthew: You’ve talked about growing up poor. How do you turn drawing into anything practical at that point?
Denis:
We were a very poor family, so I figured out early how to make literally a few pennies and then a few nickels, and it grew from there. I created what I called a newsletter. It was illustrated, three pages that turned into maybe five or six. I wrote it, illustrated it, mimeographed it, stapled it, sold it. I was a one-man band.
That allowed classmates to see what I was doing and give feedback. Sometimes I’d include salacious gossip or rumors about teachers or whatever I could do to sensationalize what was going on in a fairly normal Wisconsin classroom.
Every time I did that, I got a little better at writing, editing, drawing, and I learned what marketing was before anyone ever told me that term. I was earning money at a time when it was hard to earn money.
That early experience led me ultimately to become a publisher, which I never would have guessed. I wanted to be a cartoonist, and I evolved quickly into publishing cartoons. I never stopped being a cartoonist — I’m still a cartoonist — but the broad swath of my career has been in the business of comics, partly because I apparently had an ability for business when very few cartoonists did or would admit to it.
Underground Comix & Head Shops
Matthew: Fast forward a bit: you’re doing underground comics and then running Kitchen Sink Press. What does that ecosystem look like from the inside?
Denis:
When I was young, there were a handful of giant companies like Marvel, DC, Dell, Archie. It’s still dominated by Marvel and DC today, but back then it was even more concentrated.
When I ran Kitchen Sink Press for 30 years, the market I worked in changed radically. Initially, what you refer to as underground comics were sold outside the mainstream. We had to create our own distribution system. For us, it was head shops — where hippies went to buy rolling papers, Day-Glo posters, paraphernalia.
Those were outlaw retail organizations, and we were kind of outlaw producers of entertainment for that counterculture, which was very substantial in the late ’60s and into the mid and late ’70s. That was the market I focused on for the first decade.
Then hippies got integrated into the larger culture. Head shops were mostly driven out of business or just faded. At the same time, the comic book market as we know it began to grow. A handful of shops became a network because there were enough organized collectors that people could make a living retailing comics just to collectors.
At that point, Kitchen Sink plugged into that market. I was able to successfully switch. That’s how I was able to spend 30 years doing it.
Graphic Novels & Respect
Matthew: Today people treat graphic novels as “real books.” That wasn’t always true. What changed that?
Denis:
Up until 1978, there was no such thing as a graphic novel in America. It was Will Eisner who created A Contract with God in 1978 and inspired a whole new generation of artists and publishers to follow that format.
That format gave comics a lot more respect. It allowed things like Will’s work, Art Spiegelman’s Maus, Alan Moore’s Watchmen, and other classics to get mainstream recognition. You can now find those books in every Barnes & Noble and good bookstore.
Before the late ’70s, it would have been impossible to find comics of any kind in a regular bookstore, and just as impossible in any library. Comics really had zero cultural respect. They had fandom — a very enthusiastic fandom — but that didn’t translate to respect until some of those fans grew up and became professors, librarians, and people with influence.
Typecasting comics as kids’ stuff was wrong from the start, but it took years to figure that out and find a marketplace willing to buy more adult material. I’m lucky that I’ve seen the field completely revolutionized. For the most part, I think it’s for the better.
Working with Your Heroes
Matthew: You’ve worked with people like Will Eisner, Harvey Kurtzman, Stan Lee, Robert Crumb, Neil Gaiman, and Alan Moore. What is it like to go from reading their work to working with them?
Denis:
I was very lucky that I got to work with, and in many cases become close friends with, people who were my heroes growing up.
When I was young and reading comics authored by Stan Lee, or authored and sometimes illustrated by Harvey Kurtzman, Will Eisner, and other giants, it never occurred to me that I’d someday be working with them and publishing their work.
It’s a little bit of luck, a little bit of skill, a little bit of timing. They were great individuals, inspirational in different ways. Stan was a showman type, a very skilled writer, completely different from people like Eisner, Kurtzman, or Crumb, who both wrote and drew.
With Eisner, Kurtzman, Crumb — some of the bigger names — I was able to work with them over literally decades. Sometimes I was involved from the germ of an idea through to an actual publication. In some cases I had some influence on the content, but for the most part I tried to give people I respected the freedom to do what they were best at doing.
Meddling is usually not a good recipe for a publisher. The key is to encourage, to give them time, to give advances where needed, and then promote the hell out of the projects you believe in.
Self-Publishing Then vs. Now
Matthew: As someone who started with underground comix and then watched the introduction of webcomics and social media, how do you compare self-publishing then and now?
Denis:
The market changed in every way you can imagine. When I started, a self-publisher needed printers, warehouses, distributors — a whole infrastructure. The internet wiped out a lot of those barriers. Now an artist can reach readers directly, sell digital or print-on-demand, promote a book without ever touching a pallet of comics. It’s remarkable.
What excites me most are the small shows — SPX, MICE, shows built around comics rather than Hollywood. They remind me of why I got into this field. The big conventions are fun, but they’re dominated by movies, TV, toys. Small press gatherings are about voices, not brands.
Of course, the downside is volume. When I did underground comix, 10,000 copies was a starting print run. Now a self-published book might sell 200. The shelves are more crowded, the megaphone is smaller.
But print-on-demand means even 10 copies in the world is ten more than before. If someone makes something new and bold, it can find readers. Overall I think creators have far more opportunity today — you just have to meet the moment.
Advice for Young Creators (and Networking at the Bar)
Matthew: I’m just starting out — I write, I’m autistic, I’m introverted, and I get overwhelmed. But I want to make comics and work with artists. What should people like me be doing?
Denis:
A lot of people in comics are introverted or on the autism spectrum, and social navigation can be as hard as drawing pages. I’ve seen every personality type enter this field — some succeed fast, some slowly, some not at all. There’s no single recipe.
You can create for a perceived audience, or for yourself and hope others follow. The second path is riskier, but it’s where some of the greatest comics come from. Either way, you need patience. And you need a little luck.
Often that luck looks like showing up. At conventions, professionals tend to drift to the hotel bar or late-night gatherings. Deals, collaborations, and friendships happen there. It’s not about schmoozing — it’s about being present, genuine, curious. Sometimes all it takes is one conversation at 1:00 a.m. to change the next ten years of your life.
If face-to-face is hard, bring a friend who talks easier than you do. Let them open doors you step through. And take notes — on people, on advice, on ideas. Little moments can become material later.
Matthew: You also put a big emphasis on carrying a notebook or sketchbook and treating everyday life as material. Why is that so important?
Denis:
I always carried a little notebook in my pocket. I’d jot things down. You don’t have to literally do that, but whenever you hear or see something specific, it’s good to capture it. It might not be useful right away, but six months or a year later it might save you from wasting time on the wrong publisher, or it might become the perfect line of dialogue.
As a writer, you probably want a journal anyway. You might be riding a bus or sitting in a restaurant and hear a snippet of conversation and think, “I love that line.” Write it down. The more you do that, the more these things start to connect and interconnect.
If you were an artist, I’d say the same thing about sketching. Everything you draw, everything you write about, is going to come in handy later. Ordinary observations can turn into insightful inspiration in prose or comics.
It’s like mining for gold. You have to move tons of earth to get a few nuggets. For every great writer, for every page they keep, there are many pages they tear up, burn, or erase.
Creator Rights, Censorship & Contracts
Matthew: I’ve read about Siegel and Shuster losing Superman. You fought for creator rights and free expression. How much has that changed?
Denis:
When I started, the options were very few. I had the opportunity to work for Marvel. I literally worked for Stan Lee for a year, from Wisconsin, on an arrangement I negotiated so I could work from my own office.
I learned a lot and I liked Stan personally, but the way large companies mass-produce comics wasn’t how I wanted to make comics. For me, a critical thing was that whenever possible, an artist or writer should own the rights to their own work.
If you’re going to draw Spider-Man, of course Marvel owns Spider-Man. You sign a work-for-hire agreement. That’s fair enough, and I don’t criticize anyone who wants to do that. It’s a legitimate way to make a living.
But for me and the colleagues I wanted to work with, the goal was to create stories we ultimately controlled. If we created a character that became famous, we were the ones who got to exploit it and license it. If somebody in another country wanted to translate it, it was up to us whether to authorize it. Ownership is empowering.
I was part of the spear tip of a new generation that demanded that and got it with underground comix, which later evolved into what people call alternative, indie, small press.
Now it’s pretty much a given. The copyright laws changed around 1978 so that you automatically own your copyright unless you expressly sign it over. It’s easy for a new generation to take that for granted. When I was young, it had to be fought for. It had to be demanded and carved out.
Matthew: And then you helped start the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund. What pushed that?
Denis:
I inherently didn’t like the idea of somebody telling us what we could publish or distribute. That eventually led to the formation of the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund, a nonprofit that protects First Amendment rights in the comics industry.
I started it because I became aware of situations where retailers were being pressured to stop carrying certain comics — comics I thought were perfectly valid and even exemplary — because local authorities didn’t like them.
So the CBLDF was set up to protect retailers and, in a larger sense, creators, publishers, and everyone involved. It was a vacuum that needed to be filled.
Matthew: For someone starting now, what do we need to know about contracts?
Denis:
Any artist who says, “I don’t want to read a contract; I don’t care about contracts,” is doing a disservice to themselves. You really need to understand fundamental contract language.
A publisher or employer who hands you a work-for-hire contract is going to give you their standard language because it’s easiest for them and most protective of their interests. But many terms are negotiable.
If you’re selling enough to attract an agent, that’s the agent’s job — to negotiate those points on your behalf, because an agent usually has more experience with the nuances of contracts and knows where a publisher might give ground.
The smaller the publisher, the more likely it is that their contract is malleable. The larger they are, the harder it can be. But even the largest publisher, if they really want your skills, may be willing to negotiate or compromise on points that matter to you.
That kind of knowledge is part of your to-do list as a professional. It has nothing to do with your drawing or writing skills and everything to do with protecting your legal rights.
A Lasting Impact in Comics
Matthew: Out of everything — cartooning, publishing, advocacy — what are you most proud of?
Denis:
It’s like asking who my favorite children are.
It’s hard to pick favorites after 50-plus years. I’m proud to have published giants — Kurtzman, Eisner, Crumb, Gaiman, Moore — and to have given younger cartoonists early pages in anthologies that helped launch careers. That kind of midwifing still means a lot to me.
Gay Comix stands out because it gave space to queer stories when almost no one else would publish them. It mattered culturally — not just artistically. Kings in Disguise is another book I think deserves a wider readership. It started as a cocktail-bar pitch at a convention. I loved the idea, saw potential, paired the right writer with the right artist, and it became one of the early graphic novels I still believe in.
Kitchen Sink lasted three decades. My career spans nearly twice that. The catalog is thick — but what lingers now isn’t just the books. It’s the people, the risks, the breakthroughs. The relationships outlast the print runs, every time.
What’s Next For Denis Kitchen?
Matthew: You’ve said you’re semi-retired, but you don’t sound done. What are you working on now?
Denis:
When I say semi-retired, I mean I’m removing myself from agency and publishing obligations, but I’m not going to stop being a creator. I’m still drawing and writing and working on projects.
I had a book come out a couple of years ago called Creatures from the Subconscious, a series of surrealistic drawings done on what I call chipboard. There’s a sequel to that coming out. I just did a painting of a Krampus devil for an art exhibit in Los Angeles. I’m working on a page for an anthology this week, and I’m doing commissions.
So yes, I’m still active as an artist and writer. I’m probably as busy as ever, but it’s not the traditional kind of work I was doing for others as a literary agent or publisher. I’m not hanging it up yet.
Matthew: When you look back over your career now, what has stayed with you all these years?
Denis:
As the company grew, publishing became more abstract. I had editors, marketing staff, production staff. Things I once had my hands on became more indirect.
What stands out now isn’t so much the individual projects as the personal relationships. Take Will Eisner again: I probably published 20 books by him and well over a hundred comics and magazines. Those blur together. Will himself is the lasting memory — getting to know him as a person, not just as a creator.
He was an older mentor who had been involved in the industry long before me and who could give me advice when I faced unprecedented situations or obstacles. The same goes for Harvey Kurtzman and for contemporaries of mine.
At the end, it’s the friendships and relationships that stand out the most.
When you get to be my age, what really stays with you are the moments, the hours, the days you spent with people you respected, loved, cherished. That’s the important stuff. And I have lots of those. I’m a very lucky man.
Thank You Denis Kitchen
I want to thank Dennis for the interview, the book, the time, and the amount of advice he’s given me in one sitting. He tells me to remind him of this conversation when I’m a bestseller.
If I get there, it’ll be thanks in part to conversations like this one — and to people like Denis Kitchen, who spent a lifetime fighting for comics to be taken seriously, and for the people who make them to own what they create.
Denis lived through eras most creators my age know only in footnotes — head shops, underground comix, the birth of graphic novels, creator rights battles. Yet he speaks not with nostalgia, but with momentum. He believes in new voices, small presses, strange ideas, and the people willing to try. That’s what I’m taking with me: comics have always evolved because someone kept going. Someone made something when there was no permission yet. Today, that “someone” might be you.
BUY AND READ EVERYTHING INCLUDING THE KITCHEN SINK: THE DEFINITIVE INTERVIEW WITH DENIS KITCHEN.
