Ione cheerfully set up her painting supplies, brushes, and references before setting the canvas on the easel and putting on some music to set the mood. While she didn't like the idea of painting something for a group of privateers, she did enjoy forging things. And there was something about the idea of a painting of hers hanging in a gallery or some private collection that pleased her greatly, even if it wouldn't bare her name.
Humming along with the music, she began laying down the basic color scheme, frequently checking the references she had dug up and doing her best to copy the original artist's brushstrokes. She had gone to a the museum to take a personal, up close took at some of his other work.
Paint ended up on her clothes and on the drop cloth on the floor, and her apartment smelled like old turpentine and linseed oil. The painting didn't look like much at first. It was mostly large blocks of color with only a hint at the shapes of the final subject.
After a few hours, her muscles ached from the work, and she stepped back to study what she had accomplished so far. It was a decent start. A few more months, and she would really have something to look at.