Yulia Katan's work exists in symbiosis with the environments she lives in. Domestic corners, a porcelain pattern, a ficus leaf — such fragments anchor her practice. She returns to them until they compress into exact images, then translates them through drawing, painting, and sculpture.

In sculpture Katan works from recollection, but the act of remembering is never passive — it is already a form of looking. She returns to a corner, a surface, a leaf because attention turns the ordinary into something worth holding, testing, and reworking. She shapes keramiplast until a remembered form locks — square, elongated, leaf-sharp — then finishes it with colored pencil. That drawn layer acts as a second membrane, carrying light, pattern, and touch. The reliefs fix vanished interiors as tactile, irregular shards, like teeth pulled from the body.

In drawing and painting she stays closer to the present — not to depict it, but to trace how it is remembered as it is lived. The way an environment is held in the mind reshapes how it is seen. She treats homes and landscapes as vascular systems where attention moves like blood; veins traverse sockets, tables, and windows. Sometimes objects stay literal — ceramic dog, patterned fabric, porcelain plate — held as mnemonic scraps.

Across media, visual memory is material. Katan makes visible how domestic space imprints on the body, and returns that imprint to matter. Her work shows how spaces inhabit us as much as we inhabit them.