On almost any cool afternoon, you can find Paul Hansen shuffling up and down Broadway between Diversey and Belmont. Tucked under his arm is his black leather bag, slightly worn and fairly heavy for someone of any age. Around his neck is his prized possession–his Rolleiflex–a large boxy camera that dates back to the days when most people relied on the services of a professional photographer to document events in their lives.
Or that he once bit his lip to avoid getting into an argument with Alfred Stieglitz over Franklin Delano Roosevelt, while Georgia O’Keeffe looked on.
Today, he lives in a cramped two-room apartment in Lakeview. His living room doubles as his bedroom and the place is packed floor to ceiling with boxes of prints and negatives. His bathroom doubles as his darkroom. Within, he continues to make black-and-white prints that are rich in contrast, whose compositions are still masterful, still artistic.
“They all think they can do it better than me. I think people have bigger egos today, especially the young people. They’ll tell me to go ahead and take the photos, and then they don’t want to buy them. They may even recognize that I’ve done pretty well, but most of them don’t want to spend the money. They have no sense of responsibility.”
Davis asked: “Is photography an art, a craft, a science, a hobby? Who really cares? It is, without any doubt at all, the most vital and significant visual force in the world today.”
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Hansen had approached Astaire in 1932 backstage at New York’s Shubert Theatre, where he was appearing in Cole Porter’s The Gay Divorcee. Hansen brought along some pictures he had taken of other dancers, including Jack Whiting, a rival of Astaire’s, and asked Astaire if he could shoot him. Astaire agreed, if Hansen would return another day.
Four years later Hansen went west for a taste of life in Hollywood. He wheedled his way onto an RKO set where a studio photographer was taking publicity stills of Astaire in top hat and tails.
