🔗 Share this article

When considering restroom upgrades, it might be wise not to choose employing Lisa Herfeldt for such tasks.

Truly, she's a whiz using sealant applicators, producing compelling sculptures from this unlikely medium. However longer you observe the artworks, the more one notices that an element is a little unnerving.

The thick tubes from the foam she crafts reach beyond the shelves supporting them, hanging off the edges below. The knotty tubular forms expand till they rupture. Certain pieces break free from their acrylic glass box homes fully, evolving into an attractor for grime and particles. One could imagine the reviews might not get pretty.

At times I get the feeling that things seem animated inside an area,” says the German artist. “That’s why I turned to this substance as it offers a distinctly physical texture and feeling.”

Indeed one can detect somewhat grotesque regarding the artist's creations, starting with that protruding shape that protrudes, like a medical condition, from the support in the centre of the gallery, to the intestinal coils of foam that rupture resembling bodily failures. On one wall, the artist presents photocopies of the works viewed from different angles: they look like wormy parasites seen in scientific samples, or growths in a lab setting.

I am fascinated by is the idea in our bodies occurring that also have a life of their own,” the artist notes. “Things which remain unseen or command.”

Regarding things she can’t control, the poster promoting the event displays a photograph of the leaky ceiling in her own studio in the German capital. Constructed built in the early 1970s as she explains, faced immediate dislike from residents as numerous old buildings got demolished for its development. It was already dilapidated when Herfeldt – who was born in Munich yet raised near Hamburg prior to moving to the capital in her youth – moved in.

The rundown building caused issues for the artist – it was risky to display her art works without fearing risk of ruin – however, it was intriguing. Lacking architectural drawings accessible, it was unclear how to repair the problems which occurred. Once an overhead section within her workspace became so sodden it gave way completely, the single remedy involved installing it with another – and so the cycle continued.

Elsewhere on the property, Herfeldt says dripping was extreme that a series of shower basins were set up in the suspended ceiling to channel the moisture elsewhere.

It dawned on me that this place resembled an organism, a completely flawed entity,” Herfeldt states.

These conditions reminded her of a classic film, the initial work movie from the seventies about an AI-powered spacecraft which becomes autonomous. As the exhibition's title suggests given the naming – three distinct names – that’s not the only film impacting this exhibition. The three names point to main characters in Friday 13th, the iconic thriller and the extraterrestrial saga respectively. The artist references a 1987 essay from a scholar, which identifies these “final girls” a distinctive cinematic theme – female characters isolated to triumph.

These figures are somewhat masculine, rather quiet and they endure thanks to resourcefulness,” says Herfeldt of the archetypal final girl. “They don’t take drugs or have sex. Regardless who is watching, we can all identify with the survivor.”

The artist identifies a connection from these protagonists with her creations – objects which only staying put under strain they face. Does this mean the art really concerning social breakdown beyond merely water damage? Because like so many institutions, these materials meant to insulate and guard us from damage are gradually failing within society.

“Oh, totally,” she confirms.

Earlier in her career using foam materials, Herfeldt used different unconventional substances. Recent shows have involved tongue-like shapes crafted from fabric similar to found in in insulated clothing or apparel lining. Similarly, one finds the sense such unusual creations might animate – certain pieces are folded like caterpillars mid-crawl, some droop heavily from walls blocking passages collecting debris from touch (Herfeldt encourages audiences to interact and soil the works). Like the silicone sculptures, the textile works are similarly displayed in – leaving – budget-style display enclosures. The pieces are deliberately unappealing, and that's the essence.

“These works possess a particular style which makes one compelled by, while also appearing gross,” she says with a smile. “The art aims for absent, yet in reality highly noticeable.”

Herfeldt's goal isn't work to make you feel relaxation or beauty. Instead, her intention is to evoke discomfort, awkward, maybe even amused. But if you start to feel something wet dripping from above additionally, don’t say you haven’t been warned.