I can see him now, painting in the open air in Ardnamurchan or on Colonsay, canvas, easel and pigments on the palette, all in correspondence, in his movements of arm, hand, body, eyes keen to the whole vision before him, the brush-strokes bold and confident, but subtle and attentive to the intricate patterns of water and mountain and sky.

I remember when I was a wee boy, Uncle John took me out into the fields of his native Lanarkshire with two easels, canvases, paints and brushes, set me up beside him and told me to look closely at the clouds in the sky above, their form and movement, colours and tones, shifting shapes I was never quick enough to catch, but watched him do it so deft, so accurate. 'Paint what you see!' he commanded, l...