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Should you be thinking about bathroom renovations, it might be wise not to choose engaging Lisa Herfeldt to handle it.

Indeed, she's a whiz using sealant applicators, crafting fascinating sculptures out of an unusual art material. But the more look at her creations, the clearer it becomes apparent a certain aspect seems somewhat strange.

Those hefty tubes from the foam she crafts stretch over the shelves on which they sit, hanging over the sides towards the floor. The knotty foam pipes swell before bursting open. Some creations escape their transparent enclosures entirely, evolving into a collector for dust and hair. Let's just say the reviews might not get positive.

At times I get this sense that items possess life inside an area,” remarks Herfeldt. “That’s why I turned to silicone sealant as it offers a distinctly physical feel and appearance.”

In fact one can detect rather body horror regarding Herfeldt’s work, starting with the suggestive swelling that protrudes, similar to a rupture, from its cylindrical stand in the centre of the gallery, or the gut-like spirals of foam which split open resembling bodily failures. On one wall, Herfeldt has framed photocopies depicting the sculptures seen from various perspectives: appearing as wormy parasites seen in scientific samples, or formations in a lab setting.

I am fascinated by that there are things in our bodies happening which possess a life of their own,” the artist notes. “Things you can’t see or command.”

Talking of unmanageable factors, the promotional image promoting the event includes an image of the leaky ceiling within her workspace in Kreuzberg, Berlin. It was erected decades ago and, she says, faced immediate dislike by local people because a lot of historic structures got demolished in order to make way for it. It was already run-down upon her – a native of that city although she spent her youth near Hamburg prior to moving to the capital as a teenager – began using the space.

This deteriorating space caused issues to Herfeldt – placing artworks was difficult her art works without fearing risk of ruin – yet it also proved intriguing. Without any blueprints accessible, nobody had a clue how to repair any of the issues that arose. Once an overhead section within her workspace became so sodden it collapsed entirely, the single remedy involved installing the panel with a new one – thus repeating the process.

In a different area, she describes the water intrusion was severe that several shower basins were set up within the drop ceiling to channel the moisture elsewhere.

“I realised that the building resembled an organism, a totally dysfunctional body,” the artist comments.

The situation brought to mind a classic film, the initial work movie from the seventies about an AI-powered spacecraft which becomes autonomous. And as you might notice given the naming – three distinct names – that’s not the only film to have influenced the artist's presentation. The three names refer to the leading women in the slasher film, Halloween plus the sci-fi hit in that order. The artist references a critical analysis written by Carol J Clover, that describes these “final girls” an original movie concept – female characters isolated to triumph.

These figures are somewhat masculine, on the silent side enabling their survival due to intelligence,” the artist explains of the archetypal final girl. No drug use occurs or have sex. Regardless the audience's identity, everyone can relate to the survivor.”

The artist identifies a similarity linking these figures with her creations – things that are just about maintaining position under strain affecting them. Is the exhibition more about social breakdown than just leaky ceilings? As with many structures, these materials that should seal and protect against harm are gradually failing in our environment.

“Absolutely,” responds the artist.

Earlier in her career with sealant applicators, the artist worked with alternative odd mediums. Past displays included forms resembling tongues made from the kind of nylon fabric found in in insulated clothing or apparel lining. Once more, there's the sense such unusual creations seem lifelike – a few are compressed like caterpillars mid-crawl, others lollop down on vertical planes or spill across doorways collecting debris from touch (Herfeldt encourages audiences to interact leaving marks on pieces). Like the silicone sculptures, those fabric pieces are similarly displayed in – leaving – budget-style transparent cases. These are unattractive objects, and that's the essence.

“The sculptures exhibit a specific look which makes one very attracted to, yet simultaneously being quite repulsive,” Herfeldt remarks amusedly. “It attempts to seem invisible, but it’s actually extremely obvious.”

Herfeldt's goal isn't art to provide ease or aesthetically soothed. Conversely, she aims for uncomfortable, strange, maybe even amused. And if there's something wet dripping on your head as well, remember this was foreshadowed.