George Herriman and the Genius Behind Krazy Kat Comics

George Herriman is often called the “Leonardo da Vinci of comics,” and once you spend some time with his work, it is easy to understand why. At a time when newspaper comic strips were largely viewed as disposable entertainment, Herriman showed the world they could be artistic, poetic, philosophical, and unlike anything readers had ever seen before. His masterpiece, Krazy Kat, ran from 1913 until he died in 1944 and is still considered by many cartoonists and historians to be the greatest comic strip ever created.

The first time you read Krazy Kat, you may wonder what all the fuss is about. Then, somewhere along the way, it clicks. You realize you’re not reading a traditional comic strip at all. You’re stepping into a strange little world where the rules don’t matter, the scenery changes whenever it feels like it, and every page seems to have a personality of its own. That unpredictability is exactly what keeps people coming back more than a century later.

One of the things I admire most about Herriman is that he never seemed interested in doing what everyone else was doing. While other newspaper strips followed familiar formulas and delivered neat little punchlines, Krazy Kat constantly surprised its readers. The dialogue could sound like poetry one moment and everyday conversation the next. The Arizona landscape shifted from panel to panel as if it were alive. Even time itself seemed flexible. Every Sunday page felt as if Herriman were inviting readers into another dream.

Knowing a little about Herriman’s own story makes the strip even more fascinating. Born into a Creole family of color in New Orleans in 1880, he moved to Los Angeles as racial segregation tightened its grip on the South. Because of the realities of the Jim Crow era, Herriman spent much of his professional life passing as white to protect his career. He was rarely seen without his trademark Stetson hat, something many historians believe helped conceal his tightly curled hair.

Looking back, it’s hard not to see those experiences reflected in Krazy Kat. Nothing in Coconino County ever stayed the same for very long. Characters constantly challenged expectations, appearances changed without explanation, and the landscape itself seemed to have a mind of its own. A mesa could become an obelisk between panels. A cactus might suddenly resemble a piece of modern art. Bright daylight could quietly fade into moonlight before anyone finished their conversation. Herriman seemed to be reminding us that identity, reality, and perception are never as fixed as we like to believe.

One of my favorite examples comes from an October 1921 strip. Krazy accidentally gets covered in whitewash, and suddenly Ignatz Mouse falls head over heels in love with the character he usually can’t stand. Once the paint washes away, everything goes back to normal. On the surface, it’s a funny gag, but it’s also the kind of strip that stays with you. Many scholars believe Herriman was quietly commenting on race, prejudice, and the way people judge one another based entirely on appearances. Whether that was his intention or not, it’s remarkable how much meaning can be packed into a few simple panels.

That’s really the magic of Krazy Kat. You can spend hours looking for hidden symbolism and social commentary, or you can simply laugh at a mouse throwing bricks at a cat who thinks every hit is a love letter. Somehow, both readings work perfectly.

I also love how Herriman refused to pin Krazy down. Throughout the strip, Krazy is referred to as both “he” and “she,” sometimes within the very same story. Herriman never explained it because he didn’t need to. Krazy simply existed beyond labels, and over one hundred years later, that creative choice still feels refreshingly modern.

Then there’s the unforgettable love triangle. Krazy adores Ignatz Mouse. Ignatz communicates almost exclusively by hurling bricks at Krazy’s head. Krazy interprets every brick as the greatest declaration of love imaginable. Meanwhile, Officer Pupp (often spelled “Offisa Pupp”) spends his days arresting Ignatz while secretly hoping Krazy will notice him instead. It’s funny, sweet, ridiculous, and somehow never gets old. That endless cycle became one of the strip’s greatest strengths.

Reading Krazy Kat today, what surprised me most is just how experimental it still feels. Herriman was breaking the fourth wall decades before it became fashionable. In one famous strip, Ignatz literally rips a panel border off the page and uses it as a weapon. In another, a brick sails outside the comic into the newspaper’s blank margin, forcing the characters to chase after it. Those kinds of visual jokes still feel clever today, which says a lot about how far ahead of his time Herriman really was.

The same goes for his imagination. A casual conversation might wander through deserts, snowy landscapes, oceans, checkerboard worlds, and dreamscapes without anyone batting an eye. One especially memorable storyline introduces “Tiger Tea,” a mysterious drink that sends Krazy on a surreal, hallucinatory adventure. Long before psychedelic art became part of popular culture, Herriman was already exploring those ideas in the funny pages.

The amazing thing is that Krazy Kat wasn’t even a huge commercial success. It survived because newspaper publisher William Randolph Hearst absolutely loved it. While many publishers would have cancelled a strip with modest popularity, Hearst gave Herriman complete creative freedom. Looking back, that decision may have been one of the greatest gifts anyone ever gave the comics medium.

You can still see Herriman’s fingerprints all over comics and animation today. His influence reaches from Tom and Jerry to Wile E. Coyote and the Road Runner. Walt Disney admired his work. Charles Schulz credited Krazy Kat with showing that comics could explore emotion and longing. Bill Watterson has often spoken about Herriman’s influence on Calvin and Hobbes. Even underground legends like Robert Crumb embraced Herriman’s playful artwork and wonderfully strange imagination.

The admiration didn’t stop with cartoonists. Poet E. E. Cummings famously wrote the introduction to one of the earliest Krazy Kat collections because he believed the strip deserved to be appreciated as serious art. Later, Beat Generation writers such as Jack Kerouac found inspiration in Herriman’s musical dialogue and dreamlike storytelling.

What I enjoy most about Krazy Kat is that it refuses to give you one correct interpretation. You can read it as a meditation on race, identity, love, and perception. You can study every page looking for symbolism. Or you can simply enjoy watching a brick fly through the air. Every approach feels equally valid.

That reminds me of Mark Twain’s famous introduction to The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn:

“Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot.”

I can’t think of a better description of Krazy Kat. Sometimes the best way to appreciate Herriman is to stop trying to solve it and simply enjoy the ride.

The good news is that it’s never been easier to discover Herriman’s masterpiece. Every Krazy Kat strip published between 1913 and 1930 is now in the public domain, with additional years becoming available every January 1 as copyrights expire. That means anyone can read, download, and preserve these remarkable comics.

I think Chris Ware sums it up best. Writing for The New York Review of Books, the acclaimed cartoonist described Herriman’s achievement this way: “Krazy Kat has been described as a parable of love, a metaphor for democracy, a ‘surrealistic’ poem, unfolding over years and years. It is all of these, but so much more: it is a portrait of America, a self-portrait of Herriman, and, I believe, the first attempt to paint the full range of human consciousness in the language of the comic strip. Like the America it portrays, Herriman’s identity has been poised for a revision for many decades now.”

More than a century after its debut, Krazy Kat still feels unlike anything else I’ve ever read. That’s an incredible achievement for a newspaper comic created over one hundred years ago. George Herriman didn’t just make people laugh. He quietly changed what comics could become, and we’re still seeing the effects today.