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If you're planning washroom remodeling, it's advisable not to choose engaging Lisa Herfeldt to handle it.

Certainly, Herfeldt is an expert using sealant applicators, producing compelling sculptures with a surprising art material. Yet the more examine the artworks, the more one notices that an element feels slightly unnerving.

Those hefty strands made of silicone she produces extend over the shelves supporting them, hanging downwards below. Those twisted tubular forms expand until they split. Some creations leave the display cases entirely, becoming an attractor for dust and hair. It's safe to say the feedback might not get favorable.

There are moments I feel this sense that items seem animated within a space,” states the sculptor. “That’s why I turned to this substance because it has a distinctly physical sensation and look.”

In fact there’s something almost visceral about these sculptures, including the suggestive swelling jutting out, similar to a rupture, off its base within the showspace, and the winding tubes made of silicone which split open as if in crisis. On one wall, are mounted prints showing the pieces seen from various perspectives: appearing as microscopic invaders seen in scientific samples, or formations in a lab setting.

“It interests me is how certain elements in our bodies taking place which possess a life of their own,” Herfeldt explains. Phenomena you can’t see or command.”

On the subject of elements beyond her influence, the promotional image featured in the exhibition features an image showing a dripping roof in her own studio in Kreuzberg, Berlin. Constructed built in the early 1970s as she explains, was instantly hated by local people as numerous older edifices were torn down for its development. By the time in a state of disrepair upon her – originally from Munich yet raised near Hamburg prior to moving to the capital as a teenager – took up residence.

This deteriorating space proved challenging for her work – it was risky to display the sculptures without fearing risk of ruin – but it was also intriguing. Lacking architectural drawings available, it was unclear how to repair any of the issues which occurred. After a part of the roof at the artist's area got thoroughly soaked it fell apart fully, the only solution meant swapping the damaged part – perpetuating the issue.

Elsewhere on the property, she describes dripping was extreme that a series of drainage containers were set up in the suspended ceiling in order to redirect leaks to another outlet.

It dawned on me that the structure acted as a physical form, an entirely malfunctioning system,” the artist comments.

This scenario reminded her of Dark Star, John Carpenter’s debut cinematic piece about an AI-powered spacecraft that develops independence. Additionally, observers may note through the heading – three distinct names – other cinematic works influenced impacting Herfeldt’s show. These titles indicate main characters from a horror classic, the iconic thriller and the extraterrestrial saga respectively. Herfeldt cites a critical analysis written by Carol J Clover, that describes these “final girls” an original movie concept – female characters isolated to save the day.

These figures are somewhat masculine, reserved in nature enabling their survival due to intelligence,” the artist explains of the archetypal final girl. They avoid substances or have sex. And it doesn’t matter who is watching, all empathize with the survivor.”

The artist identifies a similarity between these characters with her creations – things that are just about maintaining position despite the pressures they’re under. So is her work more about cultural decay beyond merely dripping roofs? Similar to various systems, such components meant to insulate and guard against harm are gradually failing around us.

“Absolutely,” responds the artist.

Before finding inspiration in the silicone gun, the artist worked with alternative odd mediums. Previous exhibitions included forms resembling tongues crafted from fabric similar to typical for on a sleeping bag or apparel lining. Again there is the sense such unusual creations could come alive – a few are compressed like caterpillars mid-crawl, some droop heavily off surfaces blocking passages gathering grime from contact (The artist invites people to handle leaving marks on pieces). Similar to the foam artworks, those fabric pieces are similarly displayed in – and escaping from – budget-style transparent cases. They’re ugly looking things, and really that’s the point.

“The sculptures exhibit a particular style that somehow you feel very attracted to, and at the same time appearing gross,” she says grinning. “The art aims for absent, yet in reality very present.”

The artist does not create art to provide ease or beauty. Instead, her intention is to evoke discomfort, awkward, maybe even amused. But if you start to feel a moist sensation overhead too, remember this was foreshadowed.