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Should you be thinking about restroom upgrades, you may want to steer clear of engaging the sculptor for such tasks.

Certainly, Herfeldt is highly skilled in handling foam materials, crafting fascinating sculptures with a surprising medium. But longer you examine these pieces, the more you realise that an element feels slightly off.

The thick lengths of sealant she crafts reach over display surfaces on which they sit, sagging over the sides to the ground. The knotty tubular forms swell till they rupture. Some creations leave their transparent enclosures entirely, turning into a magnet for grime and particles. One could imagine the reviews are unlikely to earn positive.

“I sometimes have the feeling that items possess life within a space,” states Herfeldt. This is why I started using this foam material because it has such an organic texture and feeling.”

In fact one can detect somewhat grotesque in these sculptures, including the phallic bulge that protrudes, hernia-like, off its base in the centre of the gallery, to the intestinal coils of foam that burst like medical emergencies. Displayed nearby, the artist presents prints depicting the sculptures viewed from different angles: appearing as microscopic invaders picked up on a microscope, or colonies in a lab setting.

I am fascinated by that there are things within us occurring that seem to hold a life of their own,” Herfeldt explains. “Things which remain unseen or command.”

On the subject of elements beyond her influence, the exhibition advertisement for the show features a picture of the leaky ceiling in her own studio in Kreuzberg, Berlin. The building had been erected decades ago and according to her, faced immediate dislike by local people as numerous older edifices were removed in order to make way for it. The place was run-down when Herfeldt – a native of that city yet raised in northern Germany then relocating to Berlin in her youth – took up residence.

This decrepit property caused issues for the artist – it was risky to display her pieces without concern potential harm – yet it also proved intriguing. With no building plans accessible, no one knew how to repair the malfunctions which occurred. After a part of the roof in Herfeldt’s studio got thoroughly soaked it gave way completely, the single remedy was to replace it with another – perpetuating the issue.

In a different area, Herfeldt says the leaking was so bad that several drainage containers were installed above the false roof to divert leaks to another outlet.

“I realised that the structure acted as a physical form, a totally dysfunctional body,” she says.

These conditions evoked memories of a classic film, the director's first movie from the seventies featuring a smart spaceship that develops independence. Additionally, observers may note through the heading – three distinct names – more movies have inspired shaping Herfeldt’s show. These titles indicate main characters from a horror classic, Halloween plus the sci-fi hit as listed. She mentions a critical analysis written by Carol J Clover, outlining these “final girls” an original movie concept – protagonists by themselves to triumph.

“She’s a bit tomboyish, on the silent side and she can survive thanks to resourcefulness,” says Herfeldt regarding this trope. No drug use occurs or have sex. It is irrelevant the audience's identity, we can all identify with the survivor.”

She draws a similarity from these protagonists and her sculptures – elements that barely staying put amidst stress affecting them. Is the exhibition more about social breakdown than just leaky ceilings? Similar to various systems, these materials intended to secure and shield us from damage in fact are decaying within society.

“Absolutely,” she confirms.

Prior to discovering her medium in the silicone gun, Herfeldt used other unusual materials. Past displays have involved tongue-like shapes using the kind of nylon fabric you might see in insulated clothing or apparel lining. Again there is the feeling these strange items might animate – a few are compressed resembling moving larvae, pieces hang loosely from walls or extend through entries attracting dirt from footprints (Herfeldt encourages viewers to touch and soil the works). Similar to the foam artworks, the textile works are also housed in – leaving – budget-style display enclosures. The pieces are deliberately unappealing, which is intentional.

“These works possess a specific look that somehow you feel compelled by, yet simultaneously they’re very disgusting,” she says amusedly. “It attempts to seem absent, however, it is very present.”

Herfeldt is not making work to make you feel comfortable or aesthetically soothed. Instead, she aims for discomfort, awkward, or even humor. But if you start to feel water droplets from above as well, consider yourself you haven’t been warned.