Artist Thomas Croft began a hashtag campaign #portraitsfornhsheroes on Instagram in April calling artists and creatives to immortalise and celebrate frontline workers through art by way of painting a free portrait and posting the image online to create an exhibition and community. He had no idea it would get such a huge response. It now has over 8 thousand submissions.

http://www.thomascroft.co.uk/portraits-for-nhs-heroes/

https://www.instagram.com/explore/tags/portraitsfornhsheroes/?hl=en

We got involved as soon as we saw the campaign with huge enthusiasm, opening us the call out to any front line worker anywhere in the world on a first come first served bases. Andrew painted a portrait of Emily Neville-Smith, a London based NHS Front-Line Worker. Sarah's portrait took on a more stylised approach using pen and ink of - Dr Henna Anwar, West Yorkshire. She said: “Oh my God that's amazing and so quick!!! Wowowowoowow I love it. It's absolutely gorgeous. It's wonderful. So different. Thank you sooooooooo much I got the portrait in the mail!!! It made my day!” Attracta has made an incredible rendition of Mohammad Kamran Shahid an orthopaedic surgeon from The Royal London Hospital.

Some experiences: Andrew Manson Ireland.

It’s all very strange, being isolated, ‘At Home’ but ‘Not at Home!’ It all starts slowly, politicians dither cases spread from country to country and all of us at home deign to listen with more attention to the news.

A planned trip to Germany is put on hold as their COVID 19 cases rocket, the UK government advises against unnecessary travel, but the airline still wants to fly us, on a half-empty plane to a country where Hotels, bars and restaurants are already closed. Fortunately, they cancel the flight eight hours before departure so there will be a refund.

In England, travellers from Wuhan or infected cruise ships are taken to ‘Quarantine centres’.

The days are getting longer and we in our rural Irish area are no longer going out without a proper reason. Advice about not shaking hands and social distancing are being aired by the Government. As a health care worker, whose wife is a nurse, we are already wearing gloves and using hand sanitizer, every morning before going out, with a bright yellow ‘essential worker flash’ on the windscreen of the car, I push on with the ‘Snowdrop’ painting, caring for the elderly and shopping for the people in our little group of houses, that are self-quarantined, having returned from Africa, or are sick with some respiratory illness. No sickness developed in one case and the ill persons C-19 results were negative. The old dears I mind, also stayed well, in their own houses, other old dears in the old folks’ homes and a refugee centre a mile away were not so lucky.

Not that the papers nor radio were reporting these cases, but the foreign press referred to them and people were supporting the bereaved, on social media sites. As health workers, we were asked to cover shifts in the old people’s homes, but I was able to cover only visits for my co-workers who were sick, and in the old people’s, own homes.

A fortnight of work home, work; see no one and ‘The big Snowdrop’ painting was finished. It and others, from our collective, had their moment in the sun, and then the National lockdown began: it’s locked in a gallery with the shutters down. My visits to the sick continued, the roads were quiet, but there were a lot more people about than there should have been, cars from the city, and rich folk hiding out in their second homes. None of their big cars had the yellow essential worker flashes on their windscreens. Some co-workers came back to work, I had been going without a break for over a month, it was Thursday my normal day off from caring for those older than I, (I am 64). A lovely day, one of our children live in the house, next door but one, with their tiny daughters all of us working and playing in the Garden and warmer weather(10c). And I couldn’t get my breath. Partial isolation became total. The test was requested, and three days later the test took place. The lungs hurt and the exercise I was allowed: walking up and down the stairs, gloved and masked got harder and harder. Black jokes about not starting a long painting became the order of the day. Of course, test results take ten days, so like Schopenhauer’s Cat; you have ‘IT’ and don’t have ‘it’ at the same time. I can’t get to the workshop across the yard but there is a rectangle of unused but prepared plywood in the studio, just three steps from the bedroom, in the old building, just past the bathroom, which bathroom has become my own private bathroom, very strange. After a week I sit by the bedroom window, painting, on a ridiculously small hospital bed table; a wet night scene in Arklow, where the busses bash into the crossing lights, it’s our nearest town, and old towns have streets too narrow, for the big busses.

I have no recollection now, of starting the painting, but I can see it finished now, on the shelf beyond the end of my bed. If I am not out of the woods, but God willing, I can see light through the trees. The lungs aren’t good and the oxygen in the blood is low. Today it was off to the community hub, for a more detailed C19 assessment. Last night the Doctor for the low blood gas, on the phone, said my test was ‘Negative’ but as lung function bad, I had to be seen first thing in the morning. Oh, Joy! And if the blood gas gets worse by one point, during the night, go directly to the hospital. Reassuring or what? At 9.05 the mobile phone rang, come to Town to be assessed by 10.30! My Wife the Nurse said: “Pack a bag in case you don’t come back! I think she meant ‘In case they keep you in!’

Lines on the floor, their side and mine, all equipment that touches me, is then put on what they call the ‘contaminated’ shelf of the stainless steel trolley. “My ‘Test result just came back negative!” I put to the suitably gowned and masked Lady Irish Doctor. “Yes.. but you have it! Fourteen more days in self-isolation!” She tells me. At least I’m going home.

by Andrew Manson April 2020

Front line worker and her family by Sarah Eva Manson

Mohammad Kamran Shahid an orthopaedic surgeon from The Royal London Hospital by Attracta Manson