Sung Chankyung, a lone pine branch, 1980, nuts, bolts, wood, paper, ink, 7 7⁄8 × 4 × 4".

Sung Chankyung is a rare bird. As a highly acclaimed poet and professor in Korea, he created hundreds of sculptures—most of them small enough to be held up with one hand—using discarded and everyday materials. They are bitter, creative, and even heartbreaking. Although he spent decades in practice, he rarely shared his work except with friends and family. There are about 50 works in this carefully curated exhibition, allowing a wider public to join this lucky group.

Sung passed away in 2013 at the age of 82 and once wrote that “rustling” was the greatest joy of his life. His work exudes that sense of pleasure, and sometimes looks as pleasant as yours, because he evokes so much personality from such basic ingredients. In 1983, through a few precisely placed round holes and slits, an inverted metal kettle became a child's head, and its subject fell into a moment of awe or surprise. The 1980 One Lonely Pine Branch (1980) sits on a small wooden base. It is a vertical bolt bent near the top and a nut is fixed.

These two inconspicuous things-the nut and the bolt-are the core of Song's art, both a medium and a metaphor. Don Quixote and his horses formed various types in their 2002 works (his wire spear), and they simply lie in a jewelry box in the 2000 bolt and nut family. A poem by the artist is printed on the wall of the gallery as the apostrophe "Dear Bolt,/My Gold". He promised to "resurrect you into an object", and he told it "sneer coldly/civilization built against you/and...that threw you away."

Sung calls his home studio Eungam-dong Orphanage for Materials, referring to the Seoul neighborhood where it is located. This is a place where discarded things start a new life, where they are recycled and redeemed-saved. One of the most complicated works here is a cross made of chopsticks, perforated metal plate (speaker cover) and silver spoon in 1969, which the artist heated and shaped into the image of Christ. In a moving article in the accompanying catalog, his (obviously very patient) wife Myungwhan Lee tells of the briquettes that he used to transform appliances, which she bought for him when she got married. (The gifts he gave her included an elegant love letter scale, in 1963, a balance with a clip to measure these notes.)

If it weren't for Song's amazing range and restraint, this trait might be considered a gimmick and quirk, which makes his art full of frankness. (Paul Klee is another master of subtle gestures, and his inspiration is enduring.) He removed the arm of the Singer sewing machine, leaving behind the abstract outline of a woman, and turning her flywheel into a magnifying glass shelf. A thick plate used for pounding rice cakes became a bench. In 1980, faucet handles, pipe joints, and other scraps formed a lovely family of beasts.

The curator of the exhibition, Miseongoa Shin, invited two artists to show their works to pay tribute to Sung. Some cunning little lives of the poet appeared in a video by Sungseok Ahn. He imagined them as a 3D-rendered park, a huge monument, as charming as ever. Hyeran Choi contributed a fresco portrait of Song. One, he is in action, a star-like white figure hangs on his back; his sculpture "The Wand of Poetry Recitation Performance", in 2005, was posted on the wall, as if a painted figure was waving it. The wand is about one yard long and is decorated with nuts, bolts, wires, etc. The sharp flash went out at some point, but this was not a problem. Little miracles have appeared around him.

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