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Making her mark - Susan Butler puts down roots

"One of the things I loved most about living at Whistler was that it was perfectly acceptable for friends and family to visit you and stay in: a) your closet or b) your roommate's van that was parked in the driveway.

"One of the things I loved most about living at Whistler was that it was perfectly acceptable for friends and family to visit you and stay in: a) your closet or b) your roommate's van that was parked in the driveway."

Susan Butler

 

She'd finally found a place she liked. The mountains, the snow, the people - the outgoing, outdoor lifestyle: it totally meshed with the way she'd been brought up. It was exactly what she was looking for. Whistler featured more fun and excitement than anywhere she'd ever been.

But like everyone else who's arrived in this valley with a dream and talent (and not much money in their pockets), Susan Butler had to find a shtick to survive here.

It was the mid 1990's. The town was booming. Top of the charts in the American ski media. Party-town sans-pareil . The capital of all things youthful and extreme. No question - Whistler was drawing in new residents at an astounding rate.

And the majority were just like Susan. Under 30, afraid of nothing and ready for just about any adventure. There were jobs, sure, but most were in the low-paying service sector. And Butler had already decided that wasn't for her. She wondered how she could leverage her newly-minted Masters degree in English to find something worthy...

She laughs. "I applied to The Question as a reporter," she says. "But they obviously had other plans for me..."

That was the turning point. The shift in the narrative that made the rest of the Susan Butler's story turn out the way it did. "I was a writer," she says. "I had absolutely no experience in ad design." She stops. Shakes her head. Laughs at herself. "But that's where they decided I was most needed." Obviously her new bosses at The Question had seen something in the young woman's resume that others hadn't.

"It was a huge challenge," she admits. "But," she says - and smiles. "I've always loved a big challenge." Besides, she adds, there was a lot of laughter in that office. ""We worked in the heart of the village, right above Moguls back then. So I'd come to work in the morning and watch the people rush up the stroll to get their piece of the mountain."

Ah, Whistler's golden years...

Today, Susan Butler is a much-in-demand, Squamish-based art director. Her clients include everybody from Kokanee Crankworx to Playground Real Estate. Her strength is in branding - in other words, helping her customers develop a unique and compelling identity for their products, and then creating an ad campaign that communicates that identity to the public.

Challenging for sure. And hugely demanding - especially now that she's a mother. But Susan maintains it's all part of the balancing act. "In my business," she says, "it seems like it's feast or famine. Getting used to the lulls - and having faith that you're not going to miss your next meal - that's what being a successful freelancer is all about. You have to take the time to relax - to actually take some time off to stay healthy - even when things are crazy busy. Otherwise you're just going to burn out." She stops talking. Takes a long breath. "I mean, there are only so many times you can go back to the well..."

Indeed. So where were we? Oh yeah, the mid 1990's and Butler's burgeoning career as a "commercial" artist. "While working at the paper," she continues, "I started freelancing for Blackcomb Mountain - you know, during the David Barry era." Laughs. "The creative process was very collaborative back then. As a fledgling designer, it was exhilarating to be hunched over a light table with someone of Barry's experience -discussing a photographer's submission and what images worked and why. I absorbed everything I could."

Those who were living in the valley during those years will no doubt remember fondly the fierce rivalry that had built up between the two mountains' management team before they merged. It was old school Whistler against newcomer Blackcomb. And the gloves were off.

Change was coming fast though. By 1996, the writing was already on the wall. "I remember when I first heard about the merger," she says. "I was riding the chairlift and somebody mentioned it. I was in shock. I knew this was going to be a huge sea-change for everyone at Whistler." She stops.  "You know, there are moments in your life that are so pure and magical that you want them to go on forever. But of course they never do..."

But there were opportunities too. "When the merger happened the new W/B management team decided to launch an inhouse design studio- and they wanted me as senior designer. What an opportunity! What a great learning experience."

Butler ran the art-design team for Whistler-Blackcomb for the next five years. Advertisements, brochures, mountain signs, media guides, event promotions - you name it, Butler was in charge of delivering the goods. And her understated perfectionism played a hand in every piece of collateral that left the W/B offices.

Meanwhile though, Butler was indulging other aspects of her personality. Remember her regular DJ'ing stints at Merlin's and Dusty's?

"It's one of those things," says Butler, "that started on a lark and blossomed into one of the most enjoyable side-gigs of my recent history. Back when I was working for WB, each marketing coordinator was responsible for a "business unit." As such, we were responsible for meeting with said business units to determine their goals, objectives and strategies. Very official!"

She laughs. "Well, a colleague and I decided that Friday afternoons (prime après time) would be optimal for on-site strategy meetings and somehow we always ended up at Dusty's." This colleague (Dave Thomson) shared a "nerdy" love of 80s music with Susan and had a photographic memory of bands and song lyrics. He'd also been a DJ in his former life, and the client meetings somehow morphed into DJ sessions...

"It was just for kicks," says Butler. And laughs again. "This wasn't DJing in the "celebrity" sense that it has become where DJs are musicians in their own right. This was simply two geeks playing music. We would challenge each other song-by-song to engage the audience and stump each other. And we had the time of our lives." Her informal

"spinning" sessions eventually evolved into a seven-year DJ'ing gig. She sighs happily. "I'll never forget those warm spring days playing endless reggae sets for happy travellers on Dusty's sun-drenched patio. It was my teensy little glimpse into small-scale notoriety and it was an absolute joy."

Time marched on. By 2001, the inhouse design team at W/B was a thing of the past and Butler was looking for new work. "In the end, " she says, "It was a blessing. It forced me to go off on my own." Which then made her realize what kind of place Whistler really was. "This community is incredibly generous. People got the word out, jobs started happening." She pauses. "You know, I never had to go out and knock on doors."

 

But she also knew her time at Whistler was coming to an end. "I just wanted to slow down and collect myself," she says. "Life was moving too fast for me at Whistler. I needed to get out and take stock of my own life." At that point, she didn't even know if she'd remain on the West Coast. "But before heading back east with my tail between my legs, I decided to make a pit-stop in Squamish."

To say that it was love at first sight is perhaps an exaggeration. But Squamish and Butler had a lot in common. "I was delighted to discover this amazing community," she says. "Actually, Squamish kind of embraced me. In no time I was plugged into a vibrant scene of people doing amazing things as artists, musicians, athletes. It was just like Whistler but..." she hesitates for a beat, "less complicated."

No surprise then that Butler jumped into the Squamish lifestyle with both feet. "I figured if I couldn't snowboard every day I'd better find another passion. So I bought a dirt-bike and a whitewater kayak and some climbing gear..."

And it seems to have worked. Soon after settling down there, she was asked out on a dirt-bike date by local logger, Mark Allen. "That's how I met the love of my life," she giggles. Sawyer, their two-year old son, came along a few years later. "My son is the joy of my life," she says. "But there's so much sacrifice when you're both a parent and a freelancer. And being something of a perfectionist - it's even harder for me." She sighs. "I'm just trying to find my balance right now."

Aren't we all?