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Should you be thinking about restroom upgrades, you may want not to choose engaging Lisa Herfeldt to handle it.

Certainly, she's a whiz using sealant applicators, producing fascinating artworks from this unlikely substance. But as you observe her creations, the more you realise that something is a little unnerving.

The thick tubes made of silicone Herfeldt forms reach over the shelves on which they sit, hanging downwards to the ground. The knotty silicone strands expand before bursting open. Some creations leave the display cases fully, turning into a collector for grime and particles. One could imagine the feedback are unlikely to earn positive.

There are moments I feel an impression that items are alive within a space,” remarks Herfeldt. “That’s why I turned to this foam material as it offers this very bodily sensation and look.”

Indeed there’s something rather body horror in the artist's creations, starting with the phallic bulge that protrudes, like a medical condition, from the support in the centre of the gallery, or the gut-like spirals of foam that burst as if in crisis. Displayed nearby, the artist presents photocopies depicting the sculptures viewed from different angles: they look like microscopic invaders picked up on a microscope, or formations on a petri-dish.

What captivates me is how certain elements within us occurring that also have a life of their own,” she says. Phenomena which remain unseen or command.”

Talking of things she can’t control, the exhibition advertisement for the show includes a photograph of the leaky ceiling within her workspace located in Berlin. Constructed erected decades ago as she explains, faced immediate dislike by local people since many historic structures were removed in order to make way for it. By the time dilapidated when Herfeldt – who was born in Munich yet raised in northern Germany prior to moving to the capital in her youth – began using the space.

This deteriorating space proved challenging for the artist – she couldn’t hang her art works without concern potential harm – however, it was fascinating. Lacking architectural drawings accessible, nobody had a clue methods to address the malfunctions that developed. Once an overhead section in Herfeldt’s studio was saturated enough it collapsed entirely, the sole fix was to replace the panel with a new one – thus repeating the process.

In a different area, Herfeldt says the water intrusion was severe so multiple collection units got placed above the false roof to divert leaks to another outlet.

I understood that this place resembled an organism, a completely flawed entity,” the artist comments.

The situation brought to mind a classic film, the initial work 1974 film featuring a smart spaceship that develops independence. As the exhibition's title suggests from the show’s title – three distinct names – more movies have inspired to have influenced the artist's presentation. The three names refer to the leading women from a horror classic, another scary movie plus the sci-fi hit in that order. She mentions a 1987 essay written by Carol J Clover, which identifies these “final girls” a distinctive cinematic theme – women left alone to save the day.

“She’s a bit tomboyish, reserved in nature enabling their survival because she’s quite clever,” she elaborates of the archetypal final girl. They avoid substances or have sex. Regardless the viewer’s gender, we can all identify with the survivor.”

Herfeldt sees a similarity between these characters with her creations – elements that barely holding in place under strain they’re under. Does this mean the art really concerning social breakdown beyond merely dripping roofs? As with many structures, such components that should seal and protect from deterioration are actually slowly eroding in our environment.

“Completely,” she confirms.

Before finding inspiration with sealant applicators, the artist worked with alternative odd mediums. Past displays included tongue-like shapes made from a synthetic material you might see within outdoor gear or inside a jacket. Once more, there's the feeling such unusual creations seem lifelike – some are concertinaed resembling moving larvae, some droop heavily on vertical planes or extend through entries attracting dirt from footprints (The artist invites viewers to touch leaving marks on pieces). As with earlier creations, the textile works are similarly displayed in – and escaping from – budget-style transparent cases. They’re ugly looking things, and that's the essence.

“These works possess a certain aesthetic that somehow you feel very attracted to, and at the same time appearing gross,” she says grinning. “It attempts to seem absent, yet in reality extremely obvious.”

The artist does not create work to make you feel ease or visual calm. Instead, she wants you to feel unease, odd, or even humor. And if there's a moist sensation overhead as well, remember the alert was given.