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Should you be thinking about washroom remodeling, you may want not to choose engaging the sculptor for such tasks.

Truly, she's highly skilled using sealant applicators, crafting intriguing sculptures with a surprising substance. But as you look at these pieces, the clearer it becomes apparent that an element feels slightly strange.

Those hefty strands made of silicone Herfeldt forms extend over their supports where they rest, hanging over the sides to the ground. The gnarled silicone strands swell until they split. A few artworks break free from their acrylic glass box homes entirely, turning into a magnet for dust and hair. Let's just say the ratings are unlikely to earn favorable.

“I sometimes have the feeling that things possess life inside an area,” remarks the sculptor. Hence I came to use this substance as it offers this very bodily texture and feeling.”

Certainly there is an element rather body horror about Herfeldt’s work, starting with that protruding shape that protrudes, similar to a rupture, from its cylindrical stand within the showspace, to the intestinal coils made of silicone which split open as if in crisis. Displayed nearby, the artist presents images of the works captured in multiple views: they look like wormy parasites observed under magnification, or formations in a lab setting.

“It interests me is the idea inside human forms occurring which possess a life of their own,” she says. Phenomena you can’t see or command.”

Regarding unmanageable factors, the poster featured in the exhibition displays a photograph of water damage overhead at her creative space located in Berlin. It was built in the early 1970s as she explains, was quickly despised from residents since many old buildings were removed for its development. The place was dilapidated as the artist – who was born in Munich but grew up in northern Germany then relocating to Berlin as a teenager – began using the space.

This deteriorating space was frustrating for the artist – placing artworks was difficult her pieces without concern potential harm – yet it also proved compelling. Without any blueprints on hand, it was unclear the way to fix the problems that arose. Once an overhead section within her workspace got thoroughly soaked it fell apart fully, the only solution meant swapping it with another – and so the cycle continued.

In a different area, Herfeldt says the leaking was so bad that a series of collection units got placed above the false roof in order to redirect the water to a different sink.

It dawned on me that the building resembled an organism, an entirely malfunctioning system,” Herfeldt states.

The situation brought to mind a classic film, the initial work cinematic piece featuring a smart spaceship which becomes autonomous. As the exhibition's title suggests through the heading – three distinct names – more movies have inspired impacting this exhibition. These titles point to the female protagonists in the slasher film, the iconic thriller and the extraterrestrial saga in that order. Herfeldt cites a 1987 essay from a scholar, that describes these “final girls” as a unique film trope – protagonists by themselves to save the day.

These figures are somewhat masculine, reserved in nature and they endure thanks to resourcefulness,” the artist explains regarding this trope. “They don’t take drugs or have sex. And it doesn’t matter the viewer’s gender, all empathize with the final girl.”

The artist identifies a parallel between these characters and her sculptures – things that are just about maintaining position despite the pressures they’re under. So is her work focused on social breakdown rather than simply water damage? Similar to various systems, these materials meant to insulate and guard us from damage in fact are decaying within society.

“Oh, totally,” says Herfeldt.

Prior to discovering her medium with sealant applicators, she experimented with alternative odd mediums. Previous exhibitions featured forms resembling tongues made from a synthetic material found in on a sleeping bag or inside a jacket. Once more, there's the sense these strange items might animate – certain pieces are folded like caterpillars mid-crawl, pieces hang loosely off surfaces blocking passages gathering grime from contact (She prompts viewers to touch and dirty her art). Like the silicone sculptures, those fabric pieces are similarly displayed in – and breaking out of – cheap looking acrylic glass boxes. They’re ugly looking things, and really that’s the point.

“The sculptures exhibit a certain aesthetic that somehow you feel compelled by, yet simultaneously appearing gross,” she says grinning. “It attempts to seem invisible, however, it is extremely obvious.”

Herfeldt is not making art to provide relaxation or aesthetically soothed. Instead, she wants you to feel discomfort, odd, perhaps entertained. And if there's something wet dripping from above additionally, don’t say you haven’t been warned.