I'm Ellamae Fullalove, an artist and advocate for MRKH syndrome, women's health and self-acceptance.

My work is inspired by maximalist layers and imperfection. Loud, proud and deeply expressive, I create digitally drawn paintings on my iPad using limitless textures, alongside original acrylic works on canvas with acrylic inks. Some pieces are expressionist abstracts, representing our deeper selves, overthinking and the beautiful chaos of the mind. Others are bold, figurative works that celebrate femininity, freedom and unapologetic self-expression

 

Abstract forms, feminine shapes, imperfect lines and brave gestures have become the language through which I make sense of the world. And of myself. 

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Art has always been part of me.

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I remember making artwork all the time at school. One piece resembled my Mum, sad on one side and happy on the other. It's still somewhere in the attic. Another creation was a sculpture depicting a woman's figure, with flowers growing from her body, evoking a subtle yet empowered beauty. I wish I'd kept it for one of those nostalgic then-and-now moments. I later studied media, photography and English at college, where I loved creating, illustrating, visualising and dreaming, with a natural flair for photography.

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London-born, at 16, I discovered I had been born without a uterus. It's a rare condition affecting around 1 in 5,000 female babies, known as Mayer-Rokitansky-Küster-Hauser (MRKH) Syndrome. This life-altering diagnosis doesn't define me, but it certainly has shaped the artist and woman I am today.

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When I went to college as a newly diagnosed ‘MRKHer’, a collective term we use within our cosy community, I lost something in me. I know I loved creating, but I barely showed up. I wanted to be unseen, so I buried my passion along with myself. I kicked around with the wrong people doing the wrong things. I felt empty. Broken. Not enough. Having MRKH can strip you of your self-esteem from the inside out. I felt ugly, and even though MRKH is invisible, I became adamant that I wasn't pretty enough, girly enough, beautiful enough, to own my truth.

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Until now.

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After becoming an advocate and speaking out about the normalisation of bodies, my creative spark resurfaced. My self-acceptance inspired me not only to examine my art again, but also to reconnect with a body I once blamed for holding me back. For holding my imagination back. I delved into the world of maximalist collage making, abstract painting, maximalist feminine sculptures - writing and performing poetry and running creative events. 

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With my newfound desire to rally humankind, I went on to found a community and not-for-profit for people with MRKH and those facing similar rare reproductive conditions, as well as co-founding a feminist arts festival. Advocacy gave me my voice back, and art gave me somewhere to put it. I'm still healing through societal stigma, the grief of the body and experiences I thought, and I was taught I'd have. Art is my therapy. 

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Finding my style has been one of the most affirming parts of my journey. For years I explored different mediums, ideas and identities. Now, I know how to make my art. I no longer feel lost.

My work represents feelings of extreme expression: moody moments to euphoric highs, grief to joy, hormonal shifts to silent overwhelm, deep feelings to daydreaming, and repression to reclaim.

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Thank you for being here.