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Should you be thinking about restroom upgrades, you may want to avoid hiring Lisa Herfeldt for the job.

Certainly, Herfeldt is an expert in handling foam materials, producing intriguing artworks from this unlikely art material. However longer you observe the artworks, the more it becomes apparent a certain aspect is a little unnerving.

The dense strands from the foam Herfeldt forms reach beyond their supports supporting them, drooping downwards towards the floor. Those twisted tubular forms expand before bursting open. Certain pieces break free from the display cases entirely, evolving into a magnet for dust and hair. One could imagine the reviews would not be favorable.

“I sometimes have an impression that objects seem animated inside an area,” says the sculptor. Hence I turned to silicone sealant as it offers this very bodily texture and feeling.”

Indeed one can detect somewhat grotesque about Herfeldt’s work, starting with the suggestive swelling jutting out, like a medical condition, off its base in the centre of the gallery, and the winding tubes from the material that rupture as if in crisis. On one wall, the artist presents photocopies depicting the sculptures captured in multiple views: they look like wormy parasites seen in scientific samples, or growths in a lab setting.

I am fascinated by that there are things inside human forms occurring that seem to hold their own life,” the artist notes. “Things that are invisible or manage.”

On the subject of elements beyond her influence, the poster featured in the exhibition includes a photograph of water damage overhead at her creative space in the German capital. The building had been made in the seventies and, she says, faced immediate dislike from residents since many old buildings were removed to allow its construction. The place was run-down upon her – originally from Munich yet raised in northern Germany before arriving in Berlin during her teens – moved in.

This deteriorating space caused issues for the artist – it was risky to display the sculptures without fearing potential harm – however, it was compelling. Without any blueprints available, it was unclear how to repair the problems that developed. When the ceiling panel within her workspace became so sodden it gave way completely, the sole fix meant swapping the panel with a new one – perpetuating the issue.

At another site, the artist explains the water intrusion was severe so multiple drainage containers got placed in the suspended ceiling to divert the water to a different sink.

It dawned on me that the building acted as a physical form, a completely flawed entity,” the artist comments.

The situation evoked memories of the sci-fi movie, the director's first 1974 film concerning a conscious ship that develops independence. And as you might notice from the show’s title – a trio of references – that’s not the only film shaping this exhibition. Those labels indicate main characters from a horror classic, the iconic thriller and Alien as listed. She mentions a critical analysis by the American professor, outlining these “final girls” as a unique film trope – female characters isolated to triumph.

They often display toughness, on the silent side and she can survive due to intelligence,” the artist explains regarding this trope. They avoid substances or have sex. It is irrelevant the viewer’s gender, all empathize with the survivor.”

Herfeldt sees a similarity from these protagonists with her creations – objects which only staying put amidst stress they’re under. Is the exhibition more about societal collapse than just dripping roofs? Because like so many institutions, substances like silicone meant to insulate and guard against harm in fact are decaying in our environment.

“Completely,” says Herfeldt.

Earlier in her career in the silicone gun, Herfeldt used alternative odd mediums. Recent shows have involved forms resembling tongues using the kind of nylon fabric found in on a sleeping bag or apparel lining. Similarly, one finds the sense such unusual creations seem lifelike – some are concertinaed resembling moving larvae, some droop heavily on vertical planes or spill across doorways attracting dirt from footprints (Herfeldt encourages people to handle leaving marks on pieces). Similar to the foam artworks, these nylon creations are also housed in – and breaking out of – inexpensive-seeming acrylic glass boxes. The pieces are deliberately unappealing, and that's the essence.

“They have a particular style which makes one compelled by, and at the same time appearing gross,” the artist comments amusedly. “It tries to be invisible, but it’s actually very present.”

The artist does not create pieces that offer comfortable or visual calm. Instead, she wants you to feel uncomfortable, odd, perhaps entertained. But if you start to feel a moist sensation from above too, don’t say you haven’t been warned.