Tom Croft normally paints with the radio on. But when coronavirus swept through the UK this spring, the 50-year-old artist from Oxford found he couldn’t paint any more. “I was listening to rolling news, of things getting bleaker and bleaker, and I just ground to a halt,” he says.
A chance encounter with a doctor friend in April made him acutely aware of the pressures healthcare workers were under. “I asked him how he was doing, and he was too tired to answer. He said, ‘You don’t want to know.’”
Croft asked himself what he could do. “Pushing paint around a canvas doesn’t help a pandemic go away.” But he started to think about the portraits of the great and the good that line our art galleries, and the fact that the Covid-19 pandemic will be one of the defining events of the 21st century. Why not commemorate NHS workers in the same way?
Croft posted on social media, offering to paint a free portrait of an NHS worker. Overwhelmed by the response, he widened the field, and over the following months matched more than 500 artists with doctors, nurses, paramedics and other frontline workers. “Everyone feels that NHS workers are undervalued,” he explains. “We all know they should be paid more. I thought this could be a way to raise their status, a way of saying thank you. A portrait is a physical thing – it exists in the real world, and will outlast us all.” Here are some of those paintings, and the stories behind them.
Nightshift: Nancy Faulkner, by Gillian Horn
Faulkner, 48, is a senior sister at the Royal London hospital
This was painted when I had just been redeployed to the intensive care unit (ITU). I normally work in the ear, nose and throat department, but I have a background in trauma and intensive care, so I knew early on that I wanted to be somewhere I could be useful. You can see the exhaustion on my face.
It was like nothing I’ve ever experienced before, and I’ve seen lots of horrific things. The night shifts were the most challenging. We had six patients in a ward that would normally have four. You’d be trying to care for patients who had just arrived, and others would be dying. And you’re doing all of that in PPE, which is so hot and claustrophobic. You’d want to rip it off at the end of a shift, but you couldn’t, because it was contaminated and dangerous.
I worked in the ITU for 12 weeks straight. We’d do two day shifts and two nights shifts in a row, with two days off in between, which were spent sleeping. I’ve never known exhaustion like it: if I sat down for five minutes I’d fall asleep.
I was diagnosed with PTSD this summer. It’s been really hard. When Gillian delivered the painting to me, I’d been off work for a few weeks with severe symptoms. It was emotional seeing the painting, but also healing. It made me realise that I am out of the situation, and safe again. And it helped me to acknowledge what I had been through.
Horn, 52, is an artist and architect, from London
I found painting Nancy incredibly moving. I’d never met her, but felt connected to her after so many hours poring over her face, and studying her Instagram posts. I wanted my painting to capture the weight of Nancy’s experiences: a sense of the physical and emotional toll, but also her compassion and resilience: her humanity.
Trauma, by Alastair Faulkner
Peter Davies, 32, is an orthopaedic surgeon and trauma registrar at Ninewells hospital, Dundee
It was weird, going to work in the early weeks. I’d be driving in and mine would be the only car on the road. At the hospital, you think about Covid-19 all the time. Then you come out of hospital, and every time you turn on the TV or look at a newspaper, it’s there. It’s constant.
I wasn’t redeployed, so I carried on my usual work as an orthopaedic surgeon. People sometimes forget that the rest of the hospital doesn’t just stop: people still break bones, and need surgery. Having to wear full PPE in theatre was tough. It’s extremely sweaty, and hard to communicate.
I haven’t been able to see my parents since February. Even with the best precautions in the world, it’s almost impossible to avoid being exposed to the virus in the hospital, and I couldn’t live with myself if I gave them Covid-19.Zoom has made things easier, but it’s a long time.
Faulkner, 32, is a surgeon and artist based in Dundee
Every morning we discuss any new patients who have been admitted: it’s known as the “trauma meeting”. I wanted to paint a group portrait showcasing all the different team members involved and delivering patient care. I took inspiration from Renaissance painters including Da Vinci and Caravaggio, as well as historical paintings depicting healthcare workers, such as Rembrandt’s Anatomy Lesson Of Dr Nicolaes Tulp. I wanted to paint something in that style, but juxtaposed with modern subjects and context.
The painting encompasses two huge factors in my life: my love of surgery, and art, which is why I painted myself into the group portrait. Working on the painting during the pandemic really helped me mentally and kept me focused. I hope it represents everything good about the NHS I work in, and love.
Dr Salman Visiting His Family, by Nick Richards
Dr Muhammad Salman, 36, is a gastroenterology registrar at James Cook university hospital, Middlesbrough. During the first wave, he was redeployed to the Covid-19 ward.
I spent six weeks living away from the family home – from my wife and three children, who are five, seven, and nine, because one of my daughters is asthmatic. This painting is based on one of my rare trips to see my family, through a window.
When doctors and nurses started falling sick and dying with Covid-19, I had to explain to my kids that Dad might not be coming home. My youngest daughter said, “Where are you going? I’ll come with you.” But my oldest understood that meant that her dad might die. I think she was quite traumatised by that. We lost a few nurses to Covid in my trust, and a doctor. A lot of my colleagues have long Covid, with lifelong irreversible damage to their nerves.
The fact that we have one of the highest mortality rates in the world is appalling. I don’t think the government has handled this well. We had enough time to prepare ourselves; we should have looked at Italy, and got ready.
The cases are starting to rise again in my hospital. A lot of people are going to lose loved ones in the next few months. I am dreading having to play God: deciding which of my patients I’m most likely to be able to save. Making decisions like that never leaves you.
Richards, 49, is an artist from Sydenham, London
I found Dr Salman through Facebook. The image he suggested – being separated from his daughters through the glass – was very powerful. I wanted to avoid sentimentality, so I used a bold, impasto technique, with thick oil paint and a large brush. It was about conveying raw emotion in an expressive way, rather than focusing too narrowly on detail.
Katie Tomkins, by Roxana Halls
Tomkins, 40, is a mortuary and postmortem services manager at West Hertfordshire hospitals NHS trust
I’ve been doing this for 21 years; I worked in the aftermath of 7/7 – but this was something different.
We had our first Covid death in March, and within a fortnight it was like a storm had descended. We were running out of space. People were dying faster than we could move them through. In addition, I was worried about my staff falling sick. How would we manage if they had to self-isolate?
Under normal circumstances, a big part of my job is liaising with families and guiding them through the process of viewing their loved ones. It was hard to not be able to do that. Having to tell bereaved families over the phone that they couldn’t say goodbye was tough.
When I look at Roxana’s painting, I see someone who’s exhausted, slightly burned out, but determined to get the job done. That’s exactly how I felt.
Halls, 46, is an artist from London
When I met Katie via video link I was awestruck by her strength and tenderness, but also by her distinctive appearance. She reminded me of the wartime portraits by Dame Laura Knight, and the famous image of Rosie the Riveter from second world war posters. I wanted my portrait to evoke that same sense of focus, resolve and heroism. Having the opportunity to paint someone as remarkable as Katie, and illuminate the critical role of mortuary care, has been an absolute gift.
Jermaine, by Emma Worth
Jermaine Wright was a senior pharmacy technician at Hammersmith hospital, London. He died of Covid-19 on 27 April, at the age of 45. His friend and colleague, Alison Oliver, 46, a senior lead pharmacy technician, remembers him
Jermaine and I went to school together. Then, years later, he came for a job interview in my department. I couldn’t believe it. It was strange at first, because I was his boss, but we became good friends.
Jermaine would always tease me. He’d tell people I used to be really bad at school, when I wasn’t! He was exactly the same as he was at school: popular, cheeky. Every Valentine’s Day, he’d bring in chocolates for everyone. He was a hard worker: he’d always be the first person in and the last out.
The day we found out he had died was horrific. My boss called a meeting and the minute she walked into the room, I could tell from her body language that Jermaine was dead. I couldn’t stay in the room.
There are only 10 people in my team, and Jermaine’s loss has affected us hugely. I cried for weeks. We speak about him all the time. I feel it’s important to bring up his name, so he’s not forgotten.
We screened Jermaine’s funeral on TV at work, and more than 80 people turned up. That shows how loved he was.
Worth, 34, is an artist from Liverpool
I felt such a sense of loss and responsibility every time I picked up my brush. Jermaine’s friends described him as the life and soul of the party, so I wanted to reflect that energy. I feel very grateful to be able to tell his story: how brave he was, and what a hero.
Liam Halliwell, by Laura Quinn Harris
Halliwell, 41, is a paramedic for the North West ambulance service, based in Manchester
I’ve never experienced anxiety at work before, but those first few weeks just before lockdown, there was tension in the air. That’s my overriding memory: the anxiety.
In my job, I spend time in the control room, triaging calls. I remember getting a call from a doctor: it was startling how unwell she was. She was struggling to speak on the phone. She was only in her late 30s.
One of the hardest things about my job is that you have this intense, brief period of time with someone, where you’re doing everything you can to help them, and then they go to hospital, and that’s the last you see of them. You wonder how they got on.
The call rate in the early weeks was relentless, but then people got scared of going to hospital, so they stopped calling so much. I got sick with Covid-19 in April. That was scary, because my son has asthma. I was terrified I’d pass it on to him. Thankfully, I recovered OK – and he was fine, too.
Quinn Harris, 36, is an artist from Wigan
Liam is a friend; I wanted to paint him as a token of my gratitude to him, and all the other key workers. I hope his kindness and dedication shine through.
Ma Soeur, by Donna Maria Kelly
Nikki Hedges, 33, pictured with her sister Becky Sheppard, is an organ donation specialist nurse at Luton and Dunstable university hospital in Bedfordshire
When I was 18, I went to South Africa for two months, and seeing the poverty there made me realise how much I’d taken the NHS for granted. That was what inspired me to train as a nurse. My sister Becky works in the same hospital as me, although in a different department, and having her there during the pandemic was such an emotional support.
The photograph that Donna based her painting on was one I took on a break in my shift to send to my family. It was only meant to be a quick selfie, but it really captures the bond that Becky and I have.
So many people died on their own. It was horrible having to turn away people who wanted to say goodbye to their loved ones. I nursed a former colleague; she was intubated and unconscious, so she won’t remember it. It was such a horrible shock, seeing her come in. We didn’t think she was going to make it, but she did. Watching her recover was special.
The aftermath has been really hard. I’ve been off work with PTSD, and I am seeing a psychologist. You can feel really alone. But I want people to know that NHS staff are human as well. There’s no shame in reaching out for help.
Kelly, 42, is an artist from Hertfordshire
When Nikki contacted me to ask if I could paint a portrait of her with Becky, I said yes immediately. I was separated from my own family for the first few months, and have two sisters, so I know how special that bond is. I wanted to show the love that was clearly there, but also express my respect for the NHS. It saved my daughter’s life eight years ago, when she was hospitalised with a heart disease. I am thankful every day.
Meg, by Rosie Mark
Megan Cavanagh, 26, is a newly qualified nurse at Aintree university hospital near Liverpool. During the pandemic, she volunteered as a student nurse
It was my job to sit with people as they were dying from Covid-19, and comfort them, hold their hand. At that time, we weren’t allowed visitors, so it was just me with the patients as they drew their last breaths. You’d be trying to be strong, and not show any emotion. Sometimes they’d say that they wanted to see their family. I just held their hand and told them that everything would be OK. There was nothing else I could say. At night, I’d go home and cry.
Since the first wave, I’ve qualified and moved to a different ward. Last month we went into lockdown again. My ward has dementia patients, and around half have Covid-19 now. I’m five months pregnant, so I’m working in the office because I’m high risk. But the staff are under a lot of pressure, especially because dementia patients can get unsettled. I’m praying that when I come back from maternity leave, this pandemic will be a distant memory.
I have set up a memory box, with the portrait Rosie painted in it, and thank-you cards from the families of the people I helped. For the rest of my life, I will be proud of myself for working through the pandemic, and especially for being with those patients in their last hours.
Mark, 58, is an artist from Crossford, Scotland
The photo this was based on had been taken at the end of a long and difficult shift, and Megan was drained. I wanted to convey the physical and emotional toll the pandemic was taking; I think it can be seen in her eyes.
NHS Hero – Dr Sekina Bakare – Intensivist, by Emma Woollard
Dr Bakare, 36, is an ICU and anaesthetics doctor at Charing Cross hospital, London. During the first wave, she was based at Northwick Park hospital, London
Emma managed to capture the defiance of our fight. My expression communicates not only the struggle that all healthcare workers were going through, but also a sense of power and calm. She portrayed a strong Black woman in medicine.
That confidence came from being in a supportive environment. Northwick Park was badly hit, but there was such a sense that the community was rallying around us. People brought food into the hospital, sent us cards. Schools donated PPE. I saw the best of our country then: compassion, generosity and unity. Being away from my two young sons was tough, but it was amazing to be able to come home and see them in the evening.
I’m Black British, of Nigerian descent. It was scary seeing a lot of people coming into hospital who were seriously unwell, and who looked like me. It was also really hard when colleagues fell ill: quite a few health workers ended up in intensive care. I remember when one nurse was discharged from hospital: we lined the corridors to applaud her out. That moved me to tears. Not all of my colleagues made it.
Woollard is an artist from Notting Hill, London
After a video call with Sekina, I had a strong idea of how I wanted the portrait to look. Sekina is not only very beautiful but projects this powerful sense of calm. I asked her to get a colleague to photograph her in profile. I wanted to portray Sekina’s strength, focus, and serenity, amid the chaos.
I spent six months in an NHS hospital by my mother’s side as she was dying, and it gave me an idea of how heroic the staff are. It can be easy to take the NHS for granted, until you travel to other countries that don’t have universal healthcare – and realise how lucky we are.
Dr Oge Igwe, by Heidi Hart
Igwe, 32, is a doctor working at Furness general hospital, Barrow
I worked in the Covid-19 ward for six months, during the peak of the pandemic. You felt such an extreme range of emotions: satisfaction when you saw that people were getting better, and frustration when the medical interventions weren’t working.
This project felt like the best of humanity coming together. You had people like Heidi, who are so talented, giving their time, and other people like my colleagues, working together for the good of everyone on the ward. When I saw the painting I was very pleased with the level of artistry that went into it. You could tell how much love she put into it. If someone saw that on the wall of my house, they’d think I paid a lot of money for it.
I moved to the UK three years ago, from Nigeria. I think British people don’t always realise this, because they’re used to it, but the NHS really is the best gift that British people have.
Hart, 47, is an artist from Hilperton, Wiltshire
It was hard to find time to chat with Dr Igwe, because he worked such long hours. So I went through his Instagram page instead, and found the perfect image to base my portrait on. He’s slumped over, wearing his uniform, looking tired and wrung out. It really summarised what all the frontline staff were going through. Nothing any of us could do goes far enough to thank the NHS staff for what they’ve done this year, but I hope that Dr Igwe feels a bit more appreciated, with my painting.
Portraits for NHS Heroes initiated by Tom Croft is published by Bloomsbury Caravel on 12 November at £25.
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