The Creative Brief: Reflections on a brother’s creative mentorship

Welcome to another edition of?The Creative Brief, my biweekly roundup of news and trends for graphic designers, video producers, and creative professionals of all kinds. This edition differs from my usual format.

The professional world talks about mentorship a lot, and with good reason. There’s value in sharing one’s insights and experiences with a colleague through an open, trusting relationship.

But what about mentorship between family members? If you’ll indulge me, I’m going to talk about that here—because someone who influenced me early in life died last week: one of my big brothers, George Heid. Maybe this story will give you ideas for ways you can mentor a member of your family.

The beginning

My brother was an audio engineer and jazz drummer in Pittsburgh, PA. He recorded and performed with many of the greats who have given my relatively small home town a reputation as a major contributor to the jazz world. He leaves behind a beautiful recording studio; legions of friends and artists who miss him; and a son, an award-winning jazz composer and percussionist, George Heid III (Spotify | Apple Music).

My brother George was 13 years my senior. In his teens, he discovered jazz, thanks to a local radio station and the influence of a couple of family members: an uncle, and my other brother, Bill Heid, a world-class jazz pianist and Hammond organist (Spotify | Apple Music).

When George was about 17, he played an album in our basement game room. A song called Gemini filled the room, performed by a sextet led by saxophonist Cannonball Adderley.

Gemini, like its namesake, has a dual personality, alternating between quiet and intense sections. It begins with a melody played by a flute. As that melody played, my brother George told me the flute represented a bird singing. As the song progressed, the picture he painted changed. Now it’s flying. Now it’s with other birds.

I was four and I was fascinated. And the seeds of a lifelong love of jazz were planted.

What would have possessed a 17 year old to paint a visual picture of a song? Such synesthesia! It’s one of my earliest memories.

The teen

Fast forward about a decade. George is operating a small, barely profitable music shop. As a teenager, I spent every day of summer vacation there, helping to sell the occasional guitar, but more commonly, helping customers pick out guitar picks or packs of strings.

Business was slow. That left time to play the instruments and to read the magazines he kept on a table in a little sitting area where music students would wait for their lessons.

The table was filled with industry and enthusiast magazines: Recording Engineer and Producer. db. Stereo Review. I read and learned about microphones, tape decks, mixing, recording studios.

One summer, George handed down to me a 35mm camera as payment for working there. The Minolta SRT-101 opened my eyes to the world of photography. A few months later, I walked a couple of blocks to a nearby camera store and bought a little home darkroom kit.

Through it all, there was music. I listened to my brothers perform. I listened to what they listened to. They taught me about jazz. I played, too—piano and electric bass, buying the latter at dealer cost, thanks to George. When I played in my high school jazz band, George recorded us in my high school’s theater.

George loved movies, and he often talked about how music soundtracks contributed to a film’s narrative. He loved the work of Jerry Fielding (Spotify | Apple Music). When I was 16, he took me to a drive-in theater for a double feature of two Fielding-scored films: Sam Peckinpah’s The Wild Bunch and Straw Dogs.

Yes: a pretty intense double feature for a 16 year old. My mom would have been furious; she never found out. But that double feature gave me a lesson in how music can work together with editing and story to create a whole greater than the sum of its parts.

The now

Is there a message behind these stories? Or are they just happy memories of a grieving brother? Both.

George (and Bill) exposed me to creative endeavors of all kinds, and at a young age. Not because they thought, “I’m going to be a mentor.” They just enjoyed sharing what they loved. And by doing that, they were the butterfly wings that started the breeze that influenced the direction of my life. I wouldn’t be doing what I’m doing now were it not for them.

And the message? Your chance to mentor might begin within your own family tree. A younger sibling, a niece or nephew—share with them your own creative passions. Play a song you love and visualize it for them. Buy them a book or a cheap instant camera or share with them a work of art that you love. The possibilities are endless.

You’re a creative. How might you sow some seeds of creativity?

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I’m a senior content manager for the?Creative library?at LinkedIn Learning, responsible for planning courses on graphic design, video production, art and illustration, and related topics.?The Creative Brief?is my biweekly newsletter spotlighting news, trends, and data points of interest to creative professionals. This newsletter will return to its usual format next week.