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If you're planning washroom remodeling, it's advisable to steer clear of employing this German artist for the job.

Certainly, she's an expert with a silicone gun, crafting intriguing sculptures from this unlikely medium. Yet the more examine her creations, the more you realise that an element seems somewhat unnerving.

The thick strands from the foam she produces extend past their supports where they rest, hanging over the sides below. The knotty silicone strands swell before bursting open. Certain pieces escape their acrylic glass box homes fully, becoming a collector for dust and hair. Let's just say the feedback would not be pretty.

“I sometimes have this sense that things are alive in a room,” states Herfeldt. Hence I came to use this foam material because it has this very bodily feel and appearance.”

Certainly there’s something rather body horror about the artist's creations, starting with that protruding shape which extends, like a medical condition, off its base in the centre of the gallery, to the intestinal coils from the material that rupture resembling bodily failures. On one wall, Herfeldt has framed images of the works viewed from different angles: resembling squirming organisms observed under magnification, or growths on a petri-dish.

What captivates me is the idea within us happening that seem to hold their own life,” Herfeldt explains. “Things that are invisible or control.”

Talking of things she can’t control, the poster featured in the exhibition displays a photograph of the leaky ceiling in her own studio in Kreuzberg, Berlin. Constructed made in the seventies as she explains, was instantly hated from residents because a lot of older edifices were removed in order to make way for it. By the time run-down as the artist – a native of that city but grew up in northern Germany prior to moving to the capital in her youth – moved in.

This deteriorating space proved challenging for her work – placing artworks was difficult the sculptures without concern risk of ruin – but it was also fascinating. With no building plans accessible, it was unclear methods to address the malfunctions that arose. After a part of the roof within her workspace was saturated enough it gave way completely, the sole fix involved installing it with another – and so the cycle continued.

At another site, the artist explains the water intrusion was severe that a series of shower basins got placed above the false roof in order to redirect leaks to another outlet.

“I realised that the building resembled an organism, a totally dysfunctional body,” Herfeldt states.

These conditions reminded her of a classic film, the initial work movie from the seventies about an AI-powered spacecraft that develops independence. And as you might notice through the heading – three distinct names – other cinematic works influenced shaping this exhibition. The three names indicate the leading women from a horror classic, Halloween and Alien as listed. She mentions a 1987 essay by the American professor, outlining these “final girls” as a unique film trope – women left alone to save the day.

These figures are somewhat masculine, on the silent side and they endure due to intelligence,” the artist explains of the archetypal final girl. “They don’t take drugs or engage intimately. It is irrelevant the viewer’s gender, we can all identify with the final girl.”

Herfeldt sees a connection from these protagonists to her artworks – elements that barely maintaining position amidst stress affecting them. Does this mean the art focused on social breakdown than just dripping roofs? Similar to various systems, such components that should seal and protect from deterioration are gradually failing around us.

“Oh, totally,” she confirms.

Prior to discovering her medium using foam materials, she experimented with other unusual materials. Previous exhibitions featured organic-looking pieces made from the kind of nylon fabric you might see in insulated clothing or inside a jacket. Once more, there's the impression such unusual creations seem lifelike – some are concertinaed like caterpillars mid-crawl, some droop heavily off surfaces blocking passages gathering grime from contact (She prompts viewers to touch and soil the works). As with earlier creations, the textile works are similarly displayed in – and breaking out of – cheap looking acrylic glass boxes. They’re ugly looking things, and really that’s the point.

“These works possess a specific look that draws viewers compelled by, and at the same time they’re very disgusting,” she says with a smile. “It attempts to seem invisible, however, it is extremely obvious.”

The artist does not create work to make you feel relaxation or aesthetically soothed. Conversely, her intention is to evoke discomfort, awkward, or even humor. And if there's a moist sensation on your head as well, don’t say you haven’t been warned.