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Author:
Susan Baerwald
Former Vice President of Mini-Series and Novels for Television, producing movies and mini-series for over fifteen years at NBC.
Present? Same skill-set in Summerland.
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Susan Baerwald was born in New Jersey, brought up on the east coast, went to a Quaker boarding school in Pennsylvania, graduated from Sarah Lawrence College and then went to the Speedwriting Institute (gt a gd jb a mo pa) to learn a useful trade.
Her first job was secretary to Durward Kirby on the Garry Moore Show. Various other show biz jobs followed, mostly in variety television and most as a glorified secretary/production assistant with side forays into script reading and theatre (from the sublime American Place Theatre to Jackie Mason’s “Dr. O’Hara, Your Mother Mrs. Horowitz is Calling.”) Marriage, motherhood and a move to the left coast followed. Early career highlight was the discovery of the script for “Airplane” which made quite a few people quite a lot of money. A career at NBC started with an Associate position in the Story Department, and progressed through Vice President of Mini-Series and Novels for Television, to producing movies and mini-series for over fifteen years at NBC. Great times, good product, educational, enlightening and satisfying. Board of Governors of the Academy of Television Arts and Sciences and head of the Awards Committee for several years.
Faculty of AFI, teaching the business of television, then coordinating Internships for three years. Served as many years as legally permitted on the Women in Film Foundation Board and co-chaired the Film Finishing Fund. Ran a Non-Profit Alliance for Women of Los Angeles for six years. Served on the Board of L.A. Goal, a wonderful organization providing opportunities for adults with developmental disabilities, for over 15 years and has been President of the Board for the past four years. Exuberant supporter of this most deserving group. Recently packed in show biz to start a new career in American Folk Art, following a lifelong passion for that art form. Decamped to Summerland, a wonderfully-funky seaside town just south of Santa Barbara, where she opened Just Folk with partner Marcy Carsey.
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MID-LIFE MAKEOVER
Why are we always fascinated by makeovers? Is it because we all have the urge to start over? Or we just want to like ourselves more? Or we all wish we had girlfriends who said to us that red lipstick doesn’t really work, or tell us we’re too told to wear skin-tight tops and pull-on pants in public? Maybe we all know how to counsel others, but don’t pay enough attention to ourselves? And what if there is no makeover counselor available for making the change you want? What if you have to wing it? Worse, what if the changes are not just physical ones, but lifestyle changes, and I’m not talking about exercise here? Or eating roughage. What I am talking about is a complete change in professional orientation. Changing careers. Making new goals. Finding out how to achieve them. And I don’t mean going from a buyer to a seller, (although that one was a real eye-opener) or from catching to pitching, or from actively producing to teaching producing, or from making films to assessing films or enabling films. I’m talking out of one entire field into a new one.
And it’s not like I chose the new profession out of the Yellow Pages. I was pursuing a passion, as they say. Taking my long appreciation of American Folk Art and thinking about how to share my enthusiasm for it with more people. I mean how many people want to spend more time doing what they love in life when they grow up? And I love having beautiful, handmade, one-of-a-kind objects around me. Things that make me smile. (Not that actors, writers and directors didn’t transport me in a like manner, but that’s something else .) It also helped push me along a bit when I realized I was older than everyone else in the entertainment business, and younger than most in the antique trade! Nothing like being the new kid on the block in your mid-60s. Another motivating factor seemed to be that it was like asking someone to punch me in the stomach to think of pitching a new project to yet another bright young thing who never knew Bette Midler was a singer before she made movies. It just became too exhausting to have to provide context for everything I wanted to do.
So what happens when a producer decides to take a pretty radically different course after years of buying, selling and making films? Do any of the skills apply to, say, buying, selling and marketing of American Folk Art? This is the story of a woman in her 60s (I could barely write that) who decided that it was time for the next challenge; moreover, it was a real departure from all the methodology acquired in the film world. Or was it? Do skills translate? Can you just produce a shop or gallery? Let’s examine this.
One of the most important attributes of a producer is the ability to adapt to unanticipated situations, make clear decisions and implement a definitive (or quasi-confident) course of action. And since every day of acquisition, development and execution of the pre-production, shooting, and post-production of a film is filled with unanticipated moments, this is a skill that is tested on practically a daily basis.
Since there was no template for becoming a gallery owner, no Movie Magic forms, no “Folk Art for Dummies” to consult, I wasn’t sure how to begin, but I thought about adapting my producing knowledge. I was a collector. I knew what I liked. And, like Women In Film, I had allies. I knew others liked what I did (I was a member of the American Folk Art Society!) And my close friend Marcy Carsey felt the same way that I did that the business as we knew it in television and film was over, and it might be time to move on. So when we started talking about what we would want to do when we grew up, it was the old “let’s put on a folk-art gallery” discussion that emerged. We discussed the pros and cons, and I’d like to say we came up with a plan, but we more or less winged it. As a good producer knows, many a successful plan goes awry, and you have to improvise anyway. Not to say that a long and well-planned pre-production isn’t highly recommended. We both had the interest, the inclination and the intuition. Together, we had the money and the taste. But there was something for which I had a great talent, I knew. Acquisition. I was a real good purchaser; translate that, I love to shop. Marcy loves real estate. And we both loved American Folk Art. What a felicitous combination!
This meant that we each had a primary function that we could share: we would have to find a place to have this shop and then fill it with wonderful things we loved. So we started what I’ll refer to as a location scout.
Since Marcy is really good with real estate, we decided we would buy a place and adapt it to a retail commercial space. After all, an investment in real estate had never proven a bad move, at least up to that point in 2002. And we wouldn’t be at the mercy of a landlord who could raise our rent as soon as we got successful. Worse, if we failed! Now, Los Angeles is not short on Antique sources. So we scoured the usual places, Melrose Avenue, Montana in Santa Monica, Abbot Kinney. Nothing seemed right. Each location was either too upscale, not developed enough, or something didn’t hit us right about it.
Projecting outcomes is also an important attribute for a producer. Since we were both parents of grown children, we realized we were not wedded to having our venture in Los Angeles. Marcy has a house in Montecito, and my husband Paul and I have been weekending in that area for years. In projecting, say, where I would like to “retire” someday, (did I use the “r” word?) Santa Barbara is right up there in the desirability quotient. So we envisioned what it would be like to have our dream shop up there. Since we also remembered that we were both good delegators (a producer has to be good at putting a collaborative team together) we hired a location scout in the guise of real estate person in this case. She found us a sweet little cottage on the main drag in Summerland, the funky-but-fabulous little beach town just south of Montecito. We loved it. We bought it. Perfect for adapting into a small gallery/shop.
There’s that adapting word again. You have no idea how much adapting we had to endure! In brief, the house resisted adaptation into a commercial space for many reasons: primarily, the mold. There was also proximity to the street, the parking possibilities, the need for handicapped access, the space factor, the mixed-use necessity in the zone, etc. etc. We made an executive (producer) decision to tear down the sweet little cottage and start over. In other words, we had chosen a location and now needed to bring in a production designer. Our architect was a dream, if somewhat convinced that his way was the right way. Since it was exactly what we wanted in terms of being as green as possible, using recycled materials, solar power, and also looked great (and we adored him) we listened and gave input. This helped us define what we needed from the structure. His unwavering conviction that his designs were terrific was very helpful when we started the approval process. Network and studio notes were never this invasive! But we heard many of the same themes . Our neighborhood (read audience) won’t go for this .There is no precedent for underground parking (read a different act format) here you can’t uplight (read shoot with shadows) your signage, etc. So a producer’s role as negotiator is also necessary as a shopbuilder!! We negotiated and negotiated and negotiated. Ended up putting in new sewer lines and sidewalks for the city around our project! But we got our underground garage! We also then hired the equivalent of set designer, lighting consultant, construction crews, etc. etc. The skills were really not that different. Putting together a team that played nicely together was just as easy or difficult as in the movies. Same type of conflicts, same type of camaraderie.
Oh, and did I mention that we started buying almost immediately? I mean, why invest in property without investing in art? Since both of us had been good consumers of American Folk Art, we used our sources to find new sources. Auctions, high level and lower, Antique Shows, Pier Shows, Estate Sales, more Auctions, online resources, galleries, dealers, collectors, New York each January for Americana Week tons of shows and opportunities to buy. We found lots of stuff we loved, and bought it. And we also found that people in the business were so generous with their time and suggestions to us. There seemed less competition and more interest in helping us create our success. There always seemed to be room for another shop or dealer, it seemed. (I shall refrain here from comment about the parallel in the entertainment business, but the word schadenfreude just doesn’t seem to apply in art and antiques!) And we were learning so much about the artists and the work we acquired that we made the decision to educate our buyers as well. We invented a presentation where biographies and pictures of the artists would be placed with the works on display. We figured that the more our buyers knew, the more they would appreciate what we were offering. And we decided to incorporate a research library, complete with fireplace and couches for lolling around and reading. As ususal, producer-as-mom works well in all fields. We were nesting while we marketed. What woman doesn’t have to multi-task?
So we were acquiring, deepening our inventory, casting so to speak. We were also writing the script as we did all of this, because what we bought was what would appear on our marquee. Our product emerged, our tastes gelled and how we presented our inventory would be our marketing plan! It’s just not that different. We hired great general managers, accountant, lawyer, advisers, and trusted colleagues. And just like in producing, six short years later, our project saw the light of day! Imagined in 2002, developed for two years, approved over two years, and built over two years, our gallery/store/shop (we never decided which it was, so we avoid calling it anything but Just Folk, the name my husband came up with!) opened in June of 2007. Seemed effortless. Great opening party. Good reviews. A lot of work. So what’s new? I guess the experience as producers over the years really still counts for getting things done, charting a course of action, being flexible, and sticking to what we think is quality material. No red lipstick here.
And it is great fun. And ongoing work. Can’t air it and put it to bed, so to speak. Have to invent new ways to market it every day. A show here, a party there, educational outreach, new inventory, publicity, advertising, word of mouth, the internet, a website, catalogues. The great thing is that it’s there every morning when we wake up, with new challenges and lots more stuff to buy (and sell, with luck!) And we seem to have an audience! This is not a limited run, we hope.
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