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 mixed media pieces on canvas, textured papers and panels using acrylics, inks, mixed medium sculptured work and more recently, textured paper and fabrics (I’ve fallen in love with a traditional Korean method called Joomchi, blending this with my illustrative style of female forms). 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, textured beings and brave gestures have become the language through which I make sense of the world. Of difference. 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 as a child. Paintings, sculptures, etching into wood, collages, handmade cards, sketches - I wanted to try it all. I once got into writing names on grains of rice and selling them in little bits of blue-tac outside my house, I made £1! As a pre-teen I was always pushing mixed media boundaries. A memorable piece was a giant female sculpture made out of wire and paper machete, painted gold with handmade paper flowers coming out of her. I later studied media, photography and English at, where I loved creating, illustrating, writing, visualising and dreaming, with a natural flair for photography. But there was a bit of a dip in my identity. I lost a part of me.

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At 16, week one of college, 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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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, or at least any confidence in my worth as a creative, along with myself. 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. Missing pieces. 

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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.  I’m reclaiming my magic.

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Thank you for being here.