The high mountain crags are home to that majestic creature, the Bighorn pear. The nimble pears somehow traverse the steep rocks without slipping and falling to their doom, and few fructovores can reach them in their chosen home. In the fruiting season, male pears often engage in vicious stem-butting contests, and the crack of horns (and squish of fruit) resounds through the mountains. Here, a male pear keeps watch over a female pear and a pearlet (the stem will fall off as the young pear matures.)

I painted this in a furious sprint, on that awesome cradled smooth clayboard. Acrylic, 12 x 24. Now I’m all exhausted. But I sold the garlic! So life is good and wonderful and my brain is complete sludge from hammering out two fairly big paintings in three mad days.

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