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Should you be thinking about bathroom renovations, you may want not to choose employing the sculptor for such tasks.

Truly, she's a whiz using sealant applicators, producing compelling artworks out of an unusual medium. Yet as you observe the artworks, the clearer you realise a certain aspect is a little off.

Those hefty lengths of sealant she produces stretch over their supports where they rest, hanging over the sides below. The gnarled tubular forms bulge until they split. A few artworks leave the display cases entirely, evolving into a magnet for dust and hair. One could imagine the feedback might not get pretty.

“I sometimes have this sense that objects possess life inside an area,” states the sculptor. “That’s why I came to use this foam material due to its such an organic texture and feeling.”

Indeed there’s something almost visceral in the artist's creations, from the suggestive swelling jutting out, like a medical condition, off its base in the centre of the gallery, to the intestinal coils from the material which split open like medical emergencies. On one wall, the artist presents images depicting the sculptures seen from various perspectives: they look like squirming organisms picked up on a microscope, or formations on a petri-dish.

I am fascinated by that there are things within us happening which possess their own life,” the artist notes. “Things which remain unseen or manage.”

Talking of elements beyond her influence, the poster promoting the event includes a photograph of water damage overhead within her workspace in Kreuzberg, Berlin. It was made in the seventies and according to her, was instantly hated among the community because a lot of historic structures were removed in order to make way for it. By the time dilapidated as the artist – who was born in Munich yet raised in northern Germany prior to moving to the capital in her youth – took up residence.

This deteriorating space proved challenging for the artist – placing artworks was difficult the sculptures without fearing they might be damaged – yet it also proved intriguing. Lacking architectural drawings on hand, nobody had a clue the way to fix any of the issues which occurred. When the ceiling panel within her workspace was saturated enough it gave way completely, the single remedy involved installing it with another – thus repeating the process.

Elsewhere on the property, the artist explains dripping was extreme that several collection units were installed above the false roof to divert leaks to another outlet.

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

These conditions reminded her of a classic film, John Carpenter’s debut 1974 film concerning a conscious ship that develops independence. As the exhibition's title suggests from the show’s title – three distinct names – that’s not the only film impacting the artist's presentation. The three names indicate main characters from a horror classic, the iconic thriller and Alien in that order. Herfeldt cites a 1987 essay written by Carol J Clover, outlining these surviving characters as a unique film trope – female characters isolated to save the day.

“She’s a bit tomboyish, on the silent side and they endure due to intelligence,” the artist explains regarding this trope. “They don’t take drugs or have sex. It is irrelevant who is watching, everyone can relate to the final girl.”

The artist identifies a similarity linking these figures with her creations – things that are just about staying put amidst stress they’re under. So is her work more about social breakdown rather than simply dripping roofs? As with many structures, such components that should seal and protect us from damage are gradually failing around us.

“Oh, totally,” says Herfeldt.

Prior to discovering her medium with sealant applicators, she experimented with alternative odd mediums. Past displays have involved tongue-like shapes using fabric similar to found in within outdoor gear or inside a jacket. Again there is the impression these peculiar objects might animate – a few are compressed as insects in motion, pieces hang loosely off surfaces blocking passages gathering grime from contact (She prompts audiences to interact and dirty her art). As with earlier creations, the textile works are similarly displayed in – and breaking out of – cheap looking transparent cases. They’re ugly looking things, which is intentional.

“The sculptures exhibit a certain aesthetic which makes one very attracted to, while also they’re very disgusting,” the artist comments grinning. “It tries to be invisible, but it’s actually extremely obvious.”

Herfeldt is not making art to provide relaxation or aesthetically soothed. Conversely, she wants you to feel discomfort, strange, maybe even amused. And if there's a moist sensation from above additionally, consider yourself you haven’t been warned.