We can have a great time now,’ but no. You miss people.

Their sons, Calum, Peter and Simon, also help out, especially with framing. Rosetta Stone Morrison paints solidly. If it’s a big painting, it can take a day. I only work in one sitting, he says. There’s a fallacy that has been doing the rounds for some time that I work on 10 different paintings at the one time. The opposite is true I have got to do it from start to finish. The essence of his work is expressive: it is fluid, and done fast. His painting has not always been so free and bold, or featured the wild slashes of light and colour that his collectors and fans love so much. When he was at school, he would paint like it was a photograph . Later, as a student at the Glasgow School of Art from 1967 to 1971, he could have become a hyper-realist . But I like to be free, he says.His work ethic appears ferocious. In 2007, it reached such a maniacal pitch that it sent his blood pressure soaring, leading to a self-imposed decrease in production. As we talk, it becomes clear that work is more than a vocation for Morrison. While rain taps on the roof and steam coils from our teacups, a picture emerges of the artist that has little resemblance to jolly Jolomo. His eldest son, Calum, now 37, was born with achondroplasia, the bone growth disorder that causes dwarfism, and underwent leg-stretching operations which involved breaking the bones. He is fine, says Morrison. He always was fine, he would have been fine if he’d been five inches smaller. It makes him 4ft 10in whereas he would have been 4ft 5in. Calum, who studied computer graphics, is a co-director, with his brothers, of Morrison’s company and lives with his parents. I get sick of folk staring at him, and kids in particular, although you cannot blame them, says Morrison. You go on the ferry to Mull, and they stare. He says it does not bother him, but I think he found it hard, and I think he still does. Morrison’s brother, Murdo, who died suddenly last year from a brain tumour, had learning difficulties. He was never any bother, says Morrison, though it’s clear that caring for him was a considerable responsibility. It was difficult, he admits. We took him on holiday and everything, there was no respite. You don’t think about it, but now, looking back, you think, That was quite a hard time.’ Murdo was a major part of his life. That has been very strange, he says, because he has been always there. You would think, We can have a great time now,’ but no. You miss people. It’s not easy. He was 68 and he always looked younger than me, because he had no worries. The saddest thing is that in the last two years, we had got him to a state where he could look after himself. He had a wee flat in Lochgilphead, he had a girlfriend, they were engaged Rosetta Stone V3 and would have got married. But he had an inoperable brain tumour: and that was it. Born in Maryhill, Glasgow in 1948, Morrison was raised in Hyndland in the city’s west end. His father worked in the post office. His mother, daughter of the talented painter Henry Lowrie, was herself a skilful artist who encouraged the young John Lowrie Morrison to enjoy art. When he was still in his pram, she would often take him to Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum after church, and she nurtured his early talent. Her death, in 2002, was painful for the devoted son. She had dementia for a long time, he says, and that was difficult, especially the last year. She was a lovely lady and quite religious, but to see her latterly, swearing and hitting us with her stick and chasing us around the kitchen we can laugh now, but it wasn’t nice at the time. The dementia was dreadful. Morrison became a committed Christian in his early 20s after seeing a Passion play at the Tron in Glasgow a production starring Cliff Richard and Edward Fox. He has been a lay preacher in the Church of Scotland for years, and has evidently leant on his faith. Did it hold up, under the intense pressures that accompanied those years as a carer? Oh yes, he says, without hesitation. I have never had a problem with it. Maureen and me are the same we feel that this is not a wind-up world that God started and let go. We believe firmly that God is in everything. I have never had a problem with things that happen to us. Hindi Rosetta Stone You obviously have a hard time and it’s painful, but you realise Christ’s pain was worse, and he went through that and knows our pain. It’s a very strong belief, it’s a very strong faith. You do get knocked, but it does not weaken it in any way. [Faith] has taken us through a lot. As we walk to the studio where Morrison works, we pass dozens of completed canvases, packaged and stacked. The studio itself is open and spacious. Huge canvases stand on large easels. A thick mound of oil paint, built up over the years, stands like a stalagmite. Underneath lies the artist’s original palette; on top are dozens of empty oil paint tubes. A collector once tried to buy this impressive relic, but Morrison waved him away. Displayed in a gallery of modern art, it would be an interesting installation piece. Instead it stands as testimony to the frenzy of painting that is Morrison’s life: a love affair with colour and landscape and a type of creation that, for him, is an act of devotion to another, higher creator.