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When considering restroom upgrades, it might be wise to steer clear of engaging the sculptor to handle it.

Certainly, she's an expert using sealant applicators, creating compelling creations with a surprising medium. However longer you examine her creations, the clearer it becomes apparent that an element is a little unnerving.

Those hefty lengths from the foam she produces stretch over their supports on which they sit, hanging downwards below. Those twisted tubular forms expand until they split. A few artworks escape their transparent enclosures fully, turning into a collector for dust and hair. It's safe to say the feedback might not get favorable.

At times I get this sense that things are alive in a room,” remarks Herfeldt. “That’s why I came to use this foam material because it has a distinctly physical texture and feeling.”

Certainly there is an element somewhat grotesque regarding the artist's creations, from that protruding shape jutting out, like a medical condition, off its base within the showspace, to the intestinal coils of foam which split open resembling bodily failures. Displayed nearby, Herfeldt has framed images of the works viewed from different angles: appearing as microscopic invaders seen in scientific samples, or growths on a petri-dish.

“It interests me is how certain elements within us happening that seem to hold a life of their own,” Herfeldt explains. Phenomena that are invisible or manage.”

Talking of elements beyond her influence, the promotional image for the show features a photograph of the leaky ceiling in her own studio in Kreuzberg, Berlin. The building had been erected decades ago as she explains, faced immediate dislike from residents since many older edifices got demolished to allow its construction. The place was dilapidated upon her – originally from Munich but grew up in northern Germany then relocating to Berlin as a teenager – began using the space.

The rundown building was frustrating for the artist – it was risky to display the sculptures anxiously risk of ruin – but it was also fascinating. Without any blueprints accessible, nobody had a clue the way to fix the problems that arose. After a part of the roof within her workspace became so sodden it fell apart fully, the single remedy involved installing it with another – thus repeating the process.

Elsewhere on the property, Herfeldt says the water intrusion was severe so multiple collection units got placed in the suspended ceiling to divert leaks to another outlet.

“I realised that the structure resembled an organism, a completely flawed entity,” the artist comments.

The situation evoked memories of a classic film, the initial work cinematic piece about an AI-powered spacecraft which becomes autonomous. Additionally, observers may note given the naming – three distinct names – other cinematic works influenced to have influenced this exhibition. Those labels refer to main characters in the slasher film, another scary movie plus the sci-fi hit as listed. She mentions a critical analysis by the American professor, outlining these “final girls” an original movie concept – protagonists by themselves to save the day.

These figures are somewhat masculine, rather quiet and they endure because she’s quite clever,” she elaborates about such characters. “They don’t take drugs or have sex. Regardless the audience's identity, we can all identify with the final girl.”

She draws a parallel between these characters with her creations – elements that barely holding in place under strain affecting them. Does this mean the art focused on social breakdown beyond merely water damage? As with many structures, substances like silicone meant to insulate and guard from deterioration are actually slowly eroding around us.

“Completely,” says Herfeldt.

Before finding inspiration using foam materials, the artist worked with different unconventional substances. Previous exhibitions included forms resembling tongues using fabric similar to typical for on a sleeping bag or inside a jacket. Once more, there's the impression these peculiar objects might animate – some are concertinaed resembling moving larvae, some droop heavily on vertical planes or extend through entries gathering grime from contact (Herfeldt encourages people to handle and soil the works). As with earlier creations, these nylon creations are similarly displayed in – and escaping from – inexpensive-seeming acrylic glass boxes. They’re ugly looking things, which is intentional.

“They have a particular style which makes one highly drawn to, yet simultaneously they’re very disgusting,” the artist comments grinning. “It attempts to seem invisible, but it’s actually very present.”

Herfeldt's goal isn't art to provide relaxation or aesthetically soothed. Conversely, her intention is to evoke unease, awkward, maybe even amused. But if you start to feel something wet dripping on your head additionally, consider yourself you haven’t been warned.