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Should you be thinking about bathroom renovations, it's advisable not to choose employing Lisa Herfeldt for such tasks.

Indeed, Herfeldt is an expert using sealant applicators, creating intriguing creations with a surprising medium. Yet longer you observe her creations, the stronger it becomes apparent a certain aspect is a little strange.

The dense strands from the foam she produces extend beyond their supports supporting them, drooping downwards towards the floor. The knotty silicone strands bulge until they split. Some creations escape their transparent enclosures fully, turning into a magnet for dust and hair. It's safe to say the ratings are unlikely to earn positive.

“I sometimes have an impression that things are alive in a room,” says the sculptor. This is why I came to use this foam material due to its a distinctly physical texture and feeling.”

Indeed there’s something rather body horror regarding the artist's creations, including that protruding shape which extends, hernia-like, off its base at the exhibition's heart, and the winding tubes from the material that burst resembling bodily failures. Along a surface, the artist presents prints showing the pieces viewed from different angles: they look like microscopic invaders picked up on a microscope, or growths in a lab setting.

“It interests me that there are things in our bodies happening that also have independent existence,” Herfeldt explains. Phenomena which remain unseen or control.”

Regarding things she can’t control, the promotional image for the show features a photograph of the leaky ceiling in her own studio in Kreuzberg, Berlin. It was built in the early 1970s and according to her, was instantly hated by local people since many older edifices were removed in order to make way for it. The place was dilapidated as the artist – who was born in Munich although she spent her youth north of Hamburg then relocating to Berlin in her youth – began using the space.

This decrepit property caused issues for the artist – placing artworks was difficult her pieces without concern potential harm – however, it was fascinating. With no building plans accessible, it was unclear the way to fix any of the issues which occurred. After a part of the roof at the artist's area was saturated enough it fell apart fully, the single remedy involved installing it with another – and so the cycle continued.

In a different area, the artist explains dripping was extreme so multiple drainage containers were installed within the drop ceiling in order to redirect the water to a different sink.

It dawned on me that the structure resembled an organism, a totally dysfunctional body,” Herfeldt states.

The situation reminded her of the sci-fi movie, John Carpenter’s debut 1974 film featuring a smart spaceship which becomes autonomous. As the exhibition's title suggests through the heading – three distinct names – other cinematic works influenced shaping this exhibition. The three names point to main characters from a horror classic, the iconic thriller and Alien as listed. The artist references a 1987 essay from a scholar, that describes these surviving characters a distinctive cinematic theme – women left alone to triumph.

“She’s a bit tomboyish, reserved in nature enabling their survival due to intelligence,” says Herfeldt about such characters. They avoid substances nor sexual activity. And it doesn’t matter who is watching, we can all identify with the survivor.”

Herfeldt sees a similarity between these characters and her sculptures – things that are just about holding in place under strain affecting them. So is her work really concerning societal collapse than just dripping roofs? Because like so many institutions, such components that should seal and protect us from damage are actually slowly eroding in our environment.

“Completely,” she confirms.

Prior to discovering her medium with sealant applicators, the artist worked with different unconventional substances. Recent shows featured forms resembling tongues crafted from a synthetic material found in on a sleeping bag or in coats. Once more, there's the feeling these strange items might animate – certain pieces are folded as insects in motion, some droop heavily from walls blocking passages attracting dirt from footprints (Herfeldt encourages audiences to interact and soil the works). Like the silicone sculptures, the textile works are similarly displayed in – and breaking out of – inexpensive-seeming acrylic glass boxes. They’re ugly looking things, which is intentional.

“These works possess a certain aesthetic which makes one highly drawn to, yet simultaneously appearing gross,” the artist comments grinning. “The art aims for absent, however, it is highly noticeable.”

Herfeldt is not making art to provide relaxation or visual calm. Rather, she aims for unease, odd, perhaps entertained. But if you start to feel something wet dripping on your head additionally, consider yourself the alert was given.