"Aggressive, moody, demanding: she's a woman on her period in its worst phase," says Ellie of her chronic illness. "Endometriosis is selfish. It wants your time, it wants your money, it wants everything. It's a bitch."
Ellie Kammer is a visual artist from Adelaide. She paints her personal experience of endometriosis – a gynaecological disease suffered by 176 million women worldwide. In visceral oil images, Ellie shares a rare vision of female bodies: stark, bloodied, bittersweet.
![Ellie Kammer](/web/20170325014841im_/http://www.canberratimes.com.au/content/dam/images/g/v/6/0/i/d/image.related.articleLeadwide.620x349.gv5op3.png/1490334392201.jpg)
Out of hospital after emergency surgery, Ellie is spending Worldwide Endo March raising awareness of the painful condition she was diagnosed with two years ago.
"In 2014 I went overseas with my partner," she says. "I didn't realise I was pregnant. I had a miscarriage in a hotel bathroom in Toulouse. It completely destroyed my relationship."
Returning home, Ellie was blighted with ongoing problems. "I seemed to never stop bleeding," she says. In 2015, after years of dismissal from GPs, she was finally diagnosed with endometriosis. The revelation took its toll.
"I felt confused, isolated. I couldn't accept that I was going to deal with this for the rest of my life. It shook me to the core."
Endometriosis affects about one in ten women. It's present when tissue that lines the uterus grows abnormally in other reproductive organs, or the bladder, rectum and bowel. Symptoms include pelvic pain and infertility, though it's possible to have the condition without these indicators. The severity of symptoms doesn't always denote the extent of the damage done.
Sound confusing? It is. Endometriosis is a devious beast. Those affected wait between seven and 10 years for a correct diagnosis, only to become reliant on critically underfunded forms of treatment. Following invasive surgical excision, endo will eventually grow back. The disease is currently incurable.
For Ellie, the disorder comes with comorbid adenomyosis, UTIs and other infections. She's been rushed to the emergency room seven times in as many months. In December 2016, she almost died from sepsis. A few weeks into recovery, Ellie was told she needed surgery.
"When my surgeon told me, I cried, because I couldn't afford it. It was urgent but there was no way I could get the money.
"She said, 'Don't worry about the fee. Buy me some flowers later on. We're going to take care of you.'"
Dr. Fariba Behnia-Willison, a pioneer in single-incision laparoscopy, waived her $1000 fee and performed the excision three days later. She even took reference photos for Ellie to use when painting. "I have an enormous respect for her because she genuinely cares about people," Ellie says.
"My condition is so overlooked. You have to fight to be heard with women's issues. This disease is hard to understand – especially for men."
While her boyfriend is extremely supportive, Ellie describes a 'disconnect' in their relationship. "He'll never understand that pain is a daily thing for me. I've been in pain for the last eight years – I'm really tired! It's not a man's fault he can't understand. He's just never felt it.
"I've had to learn to explain myself, which is not fun when you're talking about blood, clotting and vaginas. I've had to step away from my insecurities and just be open. He appreciates that. I still struggle with it.
"I feel that my sexiness will be taken away if I'm that real with somebody. I like to have mystery. It scares me to talk to him about this, but he's amazing. It's just me, how I've been taught to think about myself," she says. "But shame is poison."
When it comes to her paintings, Ellie's found men to be "quite curious. They use it as an opportunity to get some insight," she says. "Some people hate it, [think] it's disgusting."
On social media, Ellie's work is frequently deleted due to its 'pornographic content'.
"There will always be that person who's offended by my work," she says. "But they're doing me a favour. It starts a conversation about how women are pictured as sexual objects. There would be no issue if I was doing male portraits. Because I feature the [female] breast and nipple, it's suddenly offensive, sexual and uncomfortable.
"The point is to make people ask themselves some questions… to identify why it makes them so uncomfortable. If I provoke that, that's my job well done."
Many of Ellie's fans are women with endometriosis. They send her daily messages of thanks, detailing their own experiences. Ellie posts excerpts (with consent) beside her works-in-progress.
"Sometimes it's overwhelming," she says. Lately she's struggled with the sheer volume of stories.
"It's not that I don't appreciate people telling me – it's what I want, it's a part of my work – but I'm a really emotional person.
"When they send me these stories, it makes me want to cry. I'm fearful that could be my future. I'm losing sleep and it's really taxing at the moment.
"But I want people to talk to me. I'm a feminist and I like to talk about women's problems. Yes, I have a disease and a disability, but that doesn't need to stop me."
In January 2017, Endometriosis Australia named Ellie an 'Endo Champion', on account of her art and activism. She'll display one of her paintings at their Worldwide EndoMarch Adelaide high tea on Saturday 25 March.
Since her diagnosis, the organisation has been "one of the only things that helped me feel less isolated," she says. "If you don't know what's happening to you, it's really scary. [Endometriosis Australia] educated me, and with education there is power. I feel lucky to be part of this group of women who are so brave. It puts things in perspective."
Endometriosis is a multifaceted disease, needing comprehensive treatment. Along with dietary changes and specialised counselling, self-care for Ellie means sacrificing some social niceties and "being selfish".
But today, Ellie is considering her biggest personal sacrifice yet. "I can't deal with this adenomyosis pain any longer. I can't do normal bodily functions, which is debilitating. So I'm thinking about a hysterectomy and what comes with that.
"I feel absolutely exhausted. But, for some reason I always think things are going to get better. I don't know why," she laughs.
The art helps. When she paints, Ellie can't feel pain. "It's liberating. I get to project all my shit onto the canvas, as bluntly as I like. It's really cathartic," she says.
This July, Ellie's colossal efforts will culminate in solo exhibition Nescience. Hyperrealist painter Robin Eley (Ellie's one-time mentor) will open the showcase at Adelaide's Light Square Gallery. It will feature artist talks, live discussion with a medical professional, and a catalogue of stories from endo sufferers. But for 'workaholic' Ellie, opening night is about the art itself.
"I get swept up in this endometriosis stuff but art has been my passion since I was eight years old. I'm really excited."
She apologises for complaining. "I know it can be annoying, but that's the point.
"Nobody wants to go through all this crap and not tell a single soul. It just kills you. So I've taken on the role of," Ellie pauses, "complaining very loudly."
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