Pearls Amid the Den of Mediocrity
There are people who labour under the misapprehension that YouTube has only been created for people who want to look at videos of skateboarding cats or people miming Bohemian Rhapsody into a pretend microphone - usually in the form of a hairbrush. I have a friend who likes to share clips of small children talking away about My Little Pony or some such entertainment, who innocently drop in an unfortunate Anglo-Saxon profanity that they've overheard at home more than once before. "I can't think where she gets it from....." the parents giggle nervously into the camera.
So while it can't be denied that YouTube has released a torrent of mind numbing mediocrity designed to further rot our crumbling brains, it also comes with enormous benefits. Thanks to YouTube I managed to plan a very successful hiking adventure in Scotland a few years ago, and a cycling expedition in France too. I learned how to put my tent up in eight minutes single handed (so much easier than reading the instructions), and I discovered that you can make an emergency stove with an empty beer can and a small supply of methylated spirits. I even found out how to change the light bulbs on my car - which used to be easy, but manufacturers like to build cars that can't be attended to without a laptop and a bloke with a pencil behind his ear these days.
What has made YouTube especially helpful in recent years is its landscape photography contributors. I'll wager I'm not the only one among us who's never been on a photography course or attended a Photoshop lesson. Why would you do that when you can sit in front of Nigel Danson or Mads Peter-Iversen on a Sunday morning and watch them impart their wisdom while you dose yourself up on coffee? Why would you spend money to sit in a draughty classroom when people like this so evidently love the exact same type of subject that you do and produce output that both enlightens and entertains to well?
I took this shot on the Saturday before Christmas Day. That very morning I'd watched Nick Page explain to me why I needed a very expensive pair of knee length rubber socks and Nigel Danson had reminded me to wrap up warm on cold days with a merino wool base layer (although hiking had already taught me this). As I stood on the clifftop above Chapel Porth I thanked Henry Turner for leading me to the camera bag I've been looking for ever since I started - you can use the waist straps to open it without having to dump it on wet ground, and I swear there are still undiscovered compartments in mine. It's Henry, a youngster no older than my own children, who has taught me to embrace the weather whatever it brings. His enthusiasm for our rotten British climate is surprisingly persuasive you know. This Christmas I've been out with the camera in heavy rain no less than six times, and I only started to get fed up on the fifth occasion. Without Henry's good cheer I'd have probably stayed indoors.
If it hadn't been for Mads Peter-Iversen it might not have occurred to me what a difference is made to an image by having a human presence to give it scale. Fortunately my patience paid off when this wonderful couple got that bit closer to the edge of the incoming tide than anyone else was prepared to. I do wish one of my mentors could teach me to take a decent picture on Chapel Porth Beach though. Visit after visit over the years has found me forever scratching my head in confusion. I've only ever got one image down there that I'm happy with and I seem to have inadvertently deleted it from my Flickr stream.
I was at Chapel Porth again today - without the camera - and I've got another idea, but it will have to wait for now. Tomorrow morning's return to work after an eleven day Christmas break hangs over me like the Sword of Damacles and I haven't yet found a YouTuber who can persuade me on the positive aspects of being chained to a desk all week. It's probably nearly bedtime already........
Pearls Amid the Den of Mediocrity
There are people who labour under the misapprehension that YouTube has only been created for people who want to look at videos of skateboarding cats or people miming Bohemian Rhapsody into a pretend microphone - usually in the form of a hairbrush. I have a friend who likes to share clips of small children talking away about My Little Pony or some such entertainment, who innocently drop in an unfortunate Anglo-Saxon profanity that they've overheard at home more than once before. "I can't think where she gets it from....." the parents giggle nervously into the camera.
So while it can't be denied that YouTube has released a torrent of mind numbing mediocrity designed to further rot our crumbling brains, it also comes with enormous benefits. Thanks to YouTube I managed to plan a very successful hiking adventure in Scotland a few years ago, and a cycling expedition in France too. I learned how to put my tent up in eight minutes single handed (so much easier than reading the instructions), and I discovered that you can make an emergency stove with an empty beer can and a small supply of methylated spirits. I even found out how to change the light bulbs on my car - which used to be easy, but manufacturers like to build cars that can't be attended to without a laptop and a bloke with a pencil behind his ear these days.
What has made YouTube especially helpful in recent years is its landscape photography contributors. I'll wager I'm not the only one among us who's never been on a photography course or attended a Photoshop lesson. Why would you do that when you can sit in front of Nigel Danson or Mads Peter-Iversen on a Sunday morning and watch them impart their wisdom while you dose yourself up on coffee? Why would you spend money to sit in a draughty classroom when people like this so evidently love the exact same type of subject that you do and produce output that both enlightens and entertains to well?
I took this shot on the Saturday before Christmas Day. That very morning I'd watched Nick Page explain to me why I needed a very expensive pair of knee length rubber socks and Nigel Danson had reminded me to wrap up warm on cold days with a merino wool base layer (although hiking had already taught me this). As I stood on the clifftop above Chapel Porth I thanked Henry Turner for leading me to the camera bag I've been looking for ever since I started - you can use the waist straps to open it without having to dump it on wet ground, and I swear there are still undiscovered compartments in mine. It's Henry, a youngster no older than my own children, who has taught me to embrace the weather whatever it brings. His enthusiasm for our rotten British climate is surprisingly persuasive you know. This Christmas I've been out with the camera in heavy rain no less than six times, and I only started to get fed up on the fifth occasion. Without Henry's good cheer I'd have probably stayed indoors.
If it hadn't been for Mads Peter-Iversen it might not have occurred to me what a difference is made to an image by having a human presence to give it scale. Fortunately my patience paid off when this wonderful couple got that bit closer to the edge of the incoming tide than anyone else was prepared to. I do wish one of my mentors could teach me to take a decent picture on Chapel Porth Beach though. Visit after visit over the years has found me forever scratching my head in confusion. I've only ever got one image down there that I'm happy with and I seem to have inadvertently deleted it from my Flickr stream.
I was at Chapel Porth again today - without the camera - and I've got another idea, but it will have to wait for now. Tomorrow morning's return to work after an eleven day Christmas break hangs over me like the Sword of Damacles and I haven't yet found a YouTuber who can persuade me on the positive aspects of being chained to a desk all week. It's probably nearly bedtime already........