Looking at my Tate Modern pictures, I suddenly remembered writing in the parts of the museum I couldn’t take photos.

Thirty Pieces of Silver by Cornelia Parker — thousands of silver objects, from silverware to teapots to flutes, steamrolled flat. They hang from the ceiling, arranged to make thirty “pieces,” like silver coins, hovering about a foot off the wooden floor. The strings holding each object in place create a sort of curtain or scrim. The subtle tones of silver create a texture in each piece, as well as the shapes of the objects themselves or rather the space between the objects. It’s an interesting study in parts of wholes — together a piece of silver, individually pieces of silver. The overlapping shadows can often be identified as their objects, and sometimes these shadows on the worn wood floor seem like the best part of this piece of pieces.

Gerhard Richter’s Cage 1–6 paintings also have a flattened quality to them, but here instead it’s paint scraped across canvases. They are large squares maybe eight feet across, bases primarily of white and gray with areas of mottled, yet vibrant, color. I get the sense that you could decode or reveal the image, as if lines were just shifted out of alignment when the paint was scraped into abstraction. The title of the series refers to John Cage, and the title here is a quote of his.

And then Dan Graham’s Two Correlated Rotations: One-minute films looped on two projectors situated at a right angle. It’s a small room filled with the nagging the sound of the projectors. The images are warmly grainy, though it seems like it was cold out that day. The cameras’ gazes jolt, fixed on each other as they follow a spiral pattern around each other, clockwise vs. counterclockwise.