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If you're planning bathroom renovations, it's advisable to steer clear of engaging Lisa Herfeldt for the job.

Indeed, she's highly skilled in handling foam materials, crafting intriguing creations with a surprising medium. However the more look at her creations, the stronger it becomes apparent that an element feels slightly off.

Those hefty strands of sealant she produces stretch over the shelves where they rest, hanging off the edges below. The knotty tubular forms expand till they rupture. A few artworks break free from their acrylic glass box homes completely, becoming a collector for grime and particles. It's safe to say the feedback might not get favorable.

“I sometimes have an impression that items are alive in a room,” says the sculptor. This is why I turned to this substance due to its such an organic texture and feeling.”

Indeed there is an element somewhat grotesque regarding the artist's creations, including the suggestive swelling that protrudes, similar to a rupture, from the support at the exhibition's heart, to the intestinal coils made of silicone that burst resembling bodily failures. On one wall, are mounted images depicting the sculptures captured in multiple views: they look like microscopic invaders seen in scientific samples, or formations on culture plates.

“It interests me is the idea inside human forms taking place that seem to hold their own life,” Herfeldt explains. Phenomena which remain unseen or manage.”

On the subject of unmanageable factors, the promotional image for the show displays a picture of the leaky ceiling in her own studio located in Berlin. It was made in the seventies and, she says, faced immediate dislike by local people because a lot of old buildings got demolished to allow its construction. By the time run-down as the artist – originally from Munich but grew up in northern Germany before arriving in Berlin in her youth – took up residence.

The rundown building proved challenging for the artist – she couldn’t hang her art works without fearing they might be damaged – yet it also proved intriguing. Lacking architectural drawings available, nobody had a clue the way to fix the problems that arose. After a part of the roof within her workspace was saturated enough it gave way completely, the only solution involved installing it with another – and so the cycle continued.

Elsewhere on the property, the artist explains the water intrusion was severe that several shower basins were installed in the suspended ceiling to divert the moisture elsewhere.

“I realised that the structure acted as a physical form, a completely flawed entity,” she says.

This scenario evoked memories of the sci-fi movie, the initial work cinematic piece concerning a conscious ship which becomes autonomous. As the exhibition's title suggests given the naming – Alice, Laurie & Ripley – that’s not the only film shaping this exhibition. The three names refer to the leading women from a horror classic, the iconic thriller and the extraterrestrial saga in that order. She mentions an academic paper from a scholar, outlining these “final girls” as a unique film trope – protagonists by themselves to overcome.

They often display toughness, reserved in nature enabling their survival because she’s quite clever,” says Herfeldt of the archetypal final girl. “They don’t take drugs or engage intimately. And it doesn’t matter the audience's identity, everyone can relate to this character.”

The artist identifies a connection linking these figures with her creations – objects which only holding in place under strain they’re under. So is her work really concerning social breakdown beyond merely dripping roofs? As with many structures, substances like silicone that should seal and protect from deterioration are gradually failing in our environment.

“Oh, totally,” responds the artist.

Earlier in her career in the silicone gun, the artist worked with alternative odd mediums. Recent shows have involved tongue-like shapes crafted from fabric similar to typical for in insulated clothing or inside a jacket. Once more, there's the impression these peculiar objects could come alive – certain pieces are folded as insects in motion, some droop heavily on vertical planes or extend through entries collecting debris from touch (Herfeldt encourages audiences to interact leaving marks on pieces). Similar to the foam artworks, those fabric pieces also occupy – and escaping from – inexpensive-seeming acrylic glass boxes. They’re ugly looking things, and that's the essence.

“The sculptures exhibit a particular style that draws viewers highly drawn to, while also appearing gross,” Herfeldt remarks with a smile. “The art aims for absent, however, it is highly noticeable.”

Herfeldt's goal isn't art to provide comfortable or aesthetically soothed. Rather, she wants you to feel unease, awkward, maybe even amused. However, should you notice water droplets from above additionally, don’t say this was foreshadowed.