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When considering restroom upgrades, you may want to avoid employing Lisa Herfeldt for the job.

Indeed, she's highly skilled using sealant applicators, creating intriguing sculptures with a surprising medium. But as you look at these pieces, the more you realise a certain aspect is a little unnerving.

The thick lengths of sealant she produces stretch over the shelves on which they sit, sagging downwards to the ground. The gnarled tubular forms swell until they split. Some creations break free from their acrylic glass box homes fully, evolving into a collector for grime and particles. Let's just say the reviews would not be pretty.

“I sometimes have an impression that things possess life within a space,” says the German artist. This is why I started using this substance as it offers this very bodily feel and appearance.”

Certainly there is an element rather body horror about the artist's creations, including the suggestive swelling that protrudes, like a medical condition, from its cylindrical stand at the exhibition's heart, or the gut-like spirals made of silicone that rupture as if in crisis. On one wall, the artist presents photocopies showing the pieces captured in multiple views: resembling microscopic invaders seen in scientific samples, or growths in a lab setting.

“It interests me is how certain elements within us occurring which possess independent existence,” she says. Phenomena which remain unseen or control.”

On the subject of unmanageable factors, the promotional image promoting the event includes a picture of water damage overhead at her creative space in Kreuzberg, Berlin. The building had been built in the early 1970s and, she says, was instantly hated among the community since many older edifices got demolished for its development. By the time dilapidated upon her – who was born in Munich but grew up north of Hamburg then relocating to Berlin in her youth – took up residence.

This decrepit property was frustrating for the artist – it was risky to display her pieces anxiously risk of ruin – but it was also intriguing. Lacking architectural drawings on hand, it was unclear methods to address any of the issues that arose. Once an overhead section at the artist's area was saturated enough it fell apart fully, the only solution was to replace the panel with a new one – and so the cycle continued.

Elsewhere on the property, Herfeldt says dripping was extreme that a series of shower basins were installed in the suspended ceiling to channel leaks to another outlet.

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

These conditions evoked memories of a classic film, the director's first 1974 film featuring a smart spaceship which becomes autonomous. And as you might notice from the show’s title – a trio of references – that’s not the only film shaping this exhibition. Those labels refer to the female protagonists from a horror classic, the iconic thriller and Alien as listed. The artist references a critical analysis by the American professor, outlining these “final girls” a distinctive cinematic theme – women left alone to overcome.

“She’s a bit tomboyish, rather quiet enabling their survival due to intelligence,” says Herfeldt of the archetypal final girl. No drug use occurs nor sexual activity. Regardless the viewer’s gender, everyone can relate to this character.”

The artist identifies a similarity from these protagonists with her creations – things that are just about maintaining position despite the pressures they’re under. Is the exhibition really concerning cultural decay beyond merely water damage? As with many structures, such components that should seal and protect from deterioration are gradually failing around us.

“Absolutely,” responds the artist.

Before finding inspiration in the silicone gun, she experimented with different unconventional substances. Recent shows have involved tongue-like shapes crafted from a synthetic material found in within outdoor gear or apparel lining. Once more, there's the feeling such unusual creations might animate – a few are compressed like caterpillars mid-crawl, others lollop down off surfaces or spill across doorways gathering grime from contact (Herfeldt encourages people to handle and dirty her art). Like the silicone sculptures, these nylon creations are also housed in – and breaking out of – budget-style acrylic glass boxes. They’re ugly looking things, and that's the essence.

“They have a particular style that somehow you feel very attracted to, while also being quite repulsive,” Herfeldt remarks grinning. “The art aims for not there, but it’s actually highly noticeable.”

Herfeldt's goal isn't art to provide relaxation or beauty. Conversely, she aims for unease, strange, maybe even amused. However, should you notice a moist sensation on your head too, remember the alert was given.