Published in conjunction with David Lynch’s exhibition The Air is on Fire, presented at the Fondation Cartier in 2007, the book Snowmen features a series of black and white photographs of snowmen taken by the artist in Idaho in the early 1990s.

My fascination with Breakwell's image has prompted me to return to it over the last three years to gradually investigate its story. What was the performance that led to this photograph? Was it intended as a performance, or was it composed solely to be photographed? Even in the latter case, there would have been the happenstance performance – the spectacle of Breakwell (or his model) preparing the chicken-wire covered headdress for wearing. Was it actually photographed in a library? Was the librarian consulted? Were permissions sought? Was it executed at a peak user time? Or was it tucked away on a quiet morning? What did 'The Public' think of it, coming across such a scene? Did it last just the time that it took for the photograph to be shot, or was it a longer performance, an episode that endured?

More detailed research into Breakwell's extensive archive held at Tate Britain did not provide answers in written form. Several versions of the image were published in journals, including Fotovision (August 1971), Art and Artists (February 1971) and Stand Magazine (Winter 1997). The different paper stocks that they were printed on enable more detail to be seen than the digital version that I had looked at before – in Art and Artists the photograph was reproduced on a newsprint insert to the magazine that is very different from the glossy black and white of the others. In this version, the chicken-wire frame underneath the newspaper is more visible, as are the titles on the bookshelf behind – Art and Civilization is clearly legible.

The version published in Fotovision has a completely different feel – instead of The Guardian newspaper on the table the artist holds a copy of Typographica magazine in his hands. Although this dates from 1964 (the photograph was taken in 1970), its cover design (an assemblage of logos arranged in a dense slanting pattern across the cover) juxtaposes old and new – the 'timeless' look of the traditional library space with the contemporary graphic design of the journal, and the branding that it is presenting. The existence of multiple versions suggests time spent in the space – time to shoot multiple images, test and trial different ideas and perform the image repeatedly (rather than a hit-and-runundercover-quick-photo-before-anyone-notices).

The photograph, titled “Gap,” was captured by a Japanese photographer named Kenichi Ohno from the Saitama Prefecture in the Kantō region of Honshu, part of the Greater Tokyo Area. Kenichi entered the photo in the 39th “Japanese Nature” photo contest put on by the The All-Japan Association of Photographic Societies (AJAPS), which boasts 10,000 members across Japan, and the photo was honored as a “Special Selection” winner.

Pine trees were hung from cables which were connected to poles on the right-hand side of the road. The trees were strategically installed there to obscure the view from the nearby enemy Russian tower... the erected trees would not conceal the road from aircraft. But if Russian forces were looking at the area from a watchtower, all they would be able to see was an uninterrupted line of trees.