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When considering restroom upgrades, it's advisable to steer clear of engaging Lisa Herfeldt for the job.

Indeed, Herfeldt is highly skilled with a silicone gun, producing fascinating creations out of an unusual medium. But longer you observe these pieces, the more you realise a certain aspect is a little off.

Those hefty strands from the foam she produces extend over the shelves supporting them, drooping downwards towards the floor. Those twisted foam pipes bulge before bursting open. Certain pieces leave their transparent enclosures completely, evolving into an attractor for grime and particles. One could imagine the feedback might not get favorable.

“I sometimes have the feeling that objects seem animated inside an area,” states Herfeldt. “That’s why I started using this substance due to its a distinctly physical texture and feeling.”

Indeed one can detect somewhat grotesque in Herfeldt’s work, starting with the suggestive swelling jutting out, like a medical condition, from the support at the exhibition's heart, or the gut-like spirals of foam which split open resembling bodily failures. Along a surface, the artist presents images showing the pieces viewed from different angles: resembling squirming organisms observed under magnification, or colonies on a petri-dish.

“It interests me is the idea in our bodies occurring which possess a life of their own,” the artist notes. Elements that are invisible or control.”

Regarding elements beyond her influence, the promotional image promoting the event displays a photograph showing a dripping roof within her workspace in Kreuzberg, Berlin. It was made in the seventies as she explains, faced immediate dislike by local people as numerous historic structures got demolished for its development. By the time dilapidated when Herfeldt – who was born in Munich but grew up north of Hamburg then relocating to Berlin as a teenager – moved in.

This deteriorating space was frustrating to Herfeldt – placing artworks was difficult the sculptures without fearing potential harm – but it was also intriguing. Without any blueprints available, no one knew methods to address the malfunctions which occurred. Once an overhead section at the artist's area became so sodden it gave way completely, the single remedy involved installing the panel with a new one – perpetuating the issue.

Elsewhere on the property, she describes dripping was extreme that several drainage containers were set up within the drop ceiling to divert leaks to another outlet.

It dawned on me that the building was like a body, a completely flawed entity,” Herfeldt states.

This scenario brought to mind a classic film, the initial work cinematic piece about an AI-powered spacecraft that takes on a life of its own. Additionally, observers may note through the heading – three distinct names – that’s not the only film shaping this exhibition. These titles refer to the female protagonists in the slasher film, Halloween and the extraterrestrial saga in that order. Herfeldt cites a critical analysis by the American professor, outlining the last women standing a distinctive cinematic theme – female characters isolated to save the day.

“She’s a bit tomboyish, reserved in nature enabling their survival due to intelligence,” she elaborates of the archetypal final girl. “They don’t take drugs or have sex. It is irrelevant the audience's identity, everyone can relate to the final girl.”

The artist identifies a parallel between these characters to her artworks – elements that barely holding in place amidst stress affecting them. Is the exhibition really concerning cultural decay rather than simply leaky ceilings? Because like so many institutions, such components that should seal and protect from deterioration in fact are decaying within society.

“Absolutely,” she confirms.

Before finding inspiration in the silicone gun, she experimented with other unusual materials. Recent shows have involved tongue-like shapes using a synthetic material you might see in insulated clothing or in coats. Again there is the feeling these peculiar objects seem lifelike – certain pieces are folded like caterpillars mid-crawl, others lollop down off surfaces or spill across doorways collecting debris from touch (The artist invites audiences to interact and dirty her art). Like the silicone sculptures, those fabric pieces are similarly displayed in – leaving – inexpensive-seeming display enclosures. They’re ugly looking things, which is intentional.

“They have a certain aesthetic that somehow you feel very attracted to, yet simultaneously appearing gross,” the artist comments with a smile. “It tries to be invisible, however, it is highly noticeable.”

The artist does not create pieces that offer ease or aesthetically soothed. Rather, she aims for unease, awkward, or even humor. And if there's something wet dripping from above too, don’t say you haven’t been warned.