Candice Lin’s recent solo exhibition, “Lithium Sex Demons in the Factory,” was as strange as it sounds. The immersive installation clacked and oozed and enveloped viewers in an environment that was as amusing as it was confounding. At the front of the gallery stood a series of laboratory-like stations cluttered with tubes and tinctures, clocks, and spinning gadgets as well as animated videos mounted in clunky frames that evoked atrophied technological apparatus. Elsewhere, a haphazard assortment of pens and sticky notes scrawled with enigmatic lists and messages suggested sudden abandonment, perhaps the aftermath of a natural disaster. Or were preternatural forces at work?