German artist Lisa Herfeldt brings an unsettling twist to contemporary sculpture, transforming everyday construction materials into eerily lifelike creations that seem to pulse with their own existence. Her first UK solo exhibition, titled "Alice, Laurie – Ripley," is currently on display at Roland Ross gallery in Margate, showcasing her masterful yet disturbing use of silicone guns and foam materials to create art that deliberately makes viewers uncomfortable.
"I sometimes have the feeling that things are alive in a room," Herfeldt explains during a recent interview in Margate. "That's why I came to use this foam material because it has this very bodily texture and feeling." Her sculptures embody this philosophy perfectly – thick lengths of sealant stretch beyond their designated shelves, sagging toward the floor like exhausted limbs, while knotty foam pipes bulge until they split open. Some creations escape their acrylic glass containers entirely, becoming magnets for dust and hair in a way that mirrors organic decay.
The body horror aesthetic permeates throughout Herfeldt's work, from phallic bulges that protrude hernia-like from cylindrical stands in the gallery's center to intestinal coils of foam that rupture like medical emergencies. On one wall, she has framed photocopies of her works viewed from different angles, creating images that resemble wormy parasites under a microscope or growths in a petri dish. "It interests me that there are things in our bodies happening that also have their own life," she notes. "Things you can't see or control."
The inspiration for this exploration of uncontrollable forces comes partly from Herfeldt's own studio experiences in Kreuzberg, Berlin. The poster for her current exhibition features a photograph of her leaky studio ceiling – a brown, uneven stain on a square white panel that serves as a metaphor for systemic decay. The building, constructed in the early 1970s, was immediately unpopular with locals because many historic structures were demolished to make way for it. When Herfeldt, who was born in Munich but grew up north of Hamburg before moving to Berlin as a teenager, took over the space, it was already in serious disrepair.
The building's dysfunction became both a source of frustration and fascination for the artist. Without available building plans, nobody could figure out how to properly repair the numerous issues that arose. When the ceiling panel in Herfeldt's studio became so waterlogged that it collapsed completely, the only solution was to replace it with a new panel, creating an endless cycle of temporary fixes. In another area of the property, the leaking became so severe that workers installed a series of shower basins in the suspended ceiling to redirect water to different sinks. "I realized that the building was like a body, a totally dysfunctional body," Herfeldt observes.
This situation reminded her of John Carpenter's 1974 debut film "Dark Star," which features an AI-powered spacecraft that develops its own consciousness and agency. The cinematic influence extends to the exhibition's title, with Alice, Laurie, and Ripley referring to the female protagonists from "Friday the 13th," "Halloween," and "Alien" respectively. Herfeldt draws inspiration from a 1987 essay by American professor Carol J. Clover, which identified these "final girls" as a unique film trope – women left alone to save the day through intelligence and resilience rather than traditional feminine traits.
"She's a bit tomboyish, on the silent side and she can survive because she's quite clever," Herfeldt describes of the archetypal final girl character. "They don't take drugs or have sex. And it doesn't matter the viewer's gender, we can all identify with the final girl." She sees a parallel between these characters and her sculptures – things that are barely holding together despite the immense pressures they face, representing a broader commentary on societal collapse rather than just architectural failure.
Before discovering the artistic potential of silicone guns, Herfeldt experimented with other unconventional materials. Her recent exhibitions have featured tongue-like shapes created from nylon fabric typically found in sleeping bags or jacket linings. These strange objects also seem capable of coming alive – some are accordion-folded like caterpillars mid-crawl, while others droop down from walls or spill across doorways, collecting dirt from footprints as visitors interact with them. Herfeldt actively encourages viewers to touch and soil her artwork, making them complicit in the pieces' gradual degradation.
Like her silicone sculptures, these nylon creations are housed in cheap-looking acrylic glass boxes from which they appear to be escaping. The aesthetic is deliberately unappealing, and Herfeldt embraces this ugliness as central to her artistic message. "They have a certain aesthetic that somehow you feel very attracted to, and at the same time they're very disgusting," she explains with evident satisfaction. "It tries to be not there, but it's actually very present."
Herfeldt's artistic philosophy centers on creating discomfort rather than beauty or peace. She wants viewers to feel awkward, uncomfortable, and perhaps even amused by her creations, challenging conventional expectations of what art should provide. Her work serves as a meditation on the materials that are supposed to seal and protect us from damage but are actually slowly eroding around us, much like many of society's institutions. The exhibition "Alice, Laurie – Ripley" continues at Roland Ross in Margate through November 22, offering visitors a chance to experience art that lives and breathes with unsettling vitality.
