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If you're planning restroom upgrades, you may want not to choose employing this German artist to handle it.

Certainly, Herfeldt is a whiz with a silicone gun, creating fascinating sculptures with a surprising substance. But the more look at her creations, the stronger one notices a certain aspect is a little unnerving.

The dense tubes from the foam she produces stretch past their supports supporting them, sagging over the sides below. Those twisted tubular forms expand before bursting open. Certain pieces leave their acrylic glass box homes completely, becoming an attractor for grime and particles. Let's just say the feedback are unlikely to earn pretty.

“I sometimes have an impression that objects possess life inside an area,” remarks Herfeldt. “That’s why I turned to this foam material as it offers such an organic sensation and look.”

Indeed one can detect rather body horror regarding Herfeldt’s work, starting with the phallic bulge that protrudes, similar to a rupture, off its base in the centre of the gallery, and the winding tubes made of silicone that rupture like medical emergencies. Displayed nearby, the artist presents images of the works seen from various perspectives: appearing as squirming organisms seen in scientific samples, or formations on culture plates.

I am fascinated by that there are things inside human forms taking place that seem to hold their own life,” she says. Phenomena you can’t see or control.”

On the subject of elements beyond her influence, the poster featured in the exhibition displays an image of water damage overhead at her creative space in Kreuzberg, Berlin. Constructed built in the early 1970s and, she says, was instantly hated among the community because a lot of older edifices got demolished to allow its construction. By the time in a state of disrepair as the artist – a native of that city although she spent her youth north of Hamburg then relocating to Berlin as a teenager – began using the space.

This deteriorating space was frustrating for her work – it was risky to display the sculptures without fearing potential harm – however, it was intriguing. Without any blueprints on hand, nobody had a clue methods to address the problems which occurred. When the ceiling panel at the artist's area was saturated enough it fell apart fully, the only solution was to replace the damaged part – thus repeating the process.

Elsewhere on the property, she describes the leaking was so bad that several shower basins were installed in the suspended ceiling to divert the moisture elsewhere.

“I realised that the structure was like a body, a totally dysfunctional body,” Herfeldt states.

The situation evoked memories of a classic film, John Carpenter’s debut movie from the seventies concerning a conscious ship which becomes autonomous. And as you might notice through the heading – a trio of references – that’s not the only film shaping Herfeldt’s show. These titles indicate main characters in Friday 13th, Halloween plus the sci-fi hit in that order. The artist references a 1987 essay by the American professor, outlining these “final girls” as a unique film trope – women left alone to save the day.

“She’s a bit tomboyish, on the silent side and she can survive thanks to resourcefulness,” says Herfeldt of the archetypal final girl. “They don’t take drugs or engage intimately. Regardless the audience's identity, all empathize with the survivor.”

The artist identifies a parallel linking these figures and her sculptures – things that are just about staying put despite the pressures they face. So is her work really concerning cultural decay than just leaky ceilings? As with many structures, such components that should seal and protect against harm are actually slowly eroding within society.

“Oh, totally,” she confirms.

Prior to discovering her medium using foam materials, the artist worked with alternative odd mediums. Past displays featured organic-looking pieces crafted from a synthetic material found in in insulated clothing or apparel lining. Once more, there's the feeling these peculiar objects might animate – some are concertinaed like caterpillars mid-crawl, others lollop down off surfaces or spill across doorways attracting dirt from footprints (She prompts viewers to touch leaving marks on pieces). As with earlier creations, these nylon creations are similarly displayed in – and breaking out of – budget-style display enclosures. They’re ugly looking things, which is intentional.

“The sculptures exhibit a certain aesthetic that draws viewers compelled by, and at the same time appearing gross,” the artist comments amusedly. “It tries to be absent, but it’s actually very present.”

Herfeldt is not making pieces that offer ease or visual calm. Instead, she wants you to feel discomfort, odd, or even humor. But if you start to feel water droplets overhead additionally, consider yourself the alert was given.