Loose alla-prima concept-art painting like a quick oil

A loose alla-prima concept-art painting like a quick oil sketch on canvas, in the painterly digital-study manner of modern fantasy concept artists working like Sargent, Zorn and Jakub Rozalski, not a photograph, not polished digital, not line art, not cel-shaded. The entire tall 2:3 portrait (1344x2016, edge to edge, no text, no lettering, no logos, no numerals) is rendered in this ONE single look and palette only: about half the frame a flat medium-saturated dusty cornflower blue, a quarter pale sandy peach-beige, with small accents of warm vermilion and oxblood red, a few olive-green touches, and blue-black darks, moderate saturation. Line is broad flat square-ended strokes and palette-knife slabs, edges breaking into dry-brush drag and scumbled fringes, ragged flicks along every silhouette; chunky simplified bold shapes, detail only a few sharp dabs, never fully rendered. Coarse linen weave shows through everywhere, strongest in the thin flat sky, no grain, no haze. Light is hard high clear warm-neutral daylight: near-black shadow masses beside chalky white impasto highlights, almost no midtone modelling. Calm uncluttered composition, broad flat fields, low-moderate detail, mood stark, quiet, dry. The single subject, small and set low in the frame against the wide empty field: a tiny, very stiff, newly-appointed tortoise standing upright on a single low peach-beige stone pedestal, wearing a small blue-black top hat with a thin vermilion band and a tiny oxblood bow at its throat, frozen mid-gesture with one front leg raised holding a thin pale baton, as if conducting an orchestra that is not there, the rest of the frame is just the vast quiet cornflower field and sky, no performers, no instruments, nothing but the empty air it is conducting. The tortoise round olive-green shell takes a chalky white impasto highlight on its upper dome with blue-black scumbled ridge dabs, its legs and neck in sandy peach-beige with a near-black dry-brush shadow mass pooling to one side under the pedestal. The horizon is a single scumbled fringe line where the blue field meets the peach ground; the whole picture reads as one confident flat study of a brand-new, overly-serious little maestro conducting the empty world.