On a mild autumn evening in Montreal, friends, family, and admirers gathered to commemorate Peter Collins. The memorial, held at the Quebec Public Interest Research Group (QPIRG) Concordia on September 15, 2015, served as a poignant testament to a life lived behind bars yet vibrantly expressed through art and activism. Many in attendance knew Peter through Fly in the Ointment (2015), his powerful video about the harrowing realities of solitary confinement, which had gained significant online traction. The QPIRG space buzzed with quiet reverence as projections of Peter’s evocative drawings and paintings cycled across a screen, while original artworks stood as silent witnesses on easels and walls. Amidst shared memories and heartfelt eulogies, a recurring theme emerged: a collective indignation at the prison conditions that contributed to his untimely death. Peter Collins, the incarcerated artist, utilized his creative expression to illuminate the severe injustices perpetrated by Correctional Service Canada (CSC), a courageous act that paradoxically hindered his prospects for parole and freedom. This article delves into the life and legacy of Peter Collins, exploring who he was beyond the confines of his incarceration, and the profound impact of his art and activism.
Peter Collins’ journey began on August 22, 1961, in England. At the age of six, he relocated with his family to Ottawa, Canada, in 1967. His family remembers a child characterized by curiosity, kindness, and a sharp intellect, with a particular affinity for animals who seemed drawn to his gentle nature. However, his home and school life became increasingly turbulent, leading Peter to leave home during his youth. Vulnerability on the streets exposed him to exploitation, and he eventually became entangled with the law, marking the beginning of a long and difficult path. In 1983, Peter was arrested for a series of bank robberies. Later that year, he escaped from the Ottawa-Carleton Detention Centre. During his time as a fugitive, Peter was involved in a botched bank robbery attempt where he tragically shot and killed Nepean Police Constable David Utman. In a reflective 2015 interview with the Ottawa Citizen, Peter spoke in the third person, attempting to dissect the mindset of the man who committed such a grave act:
He was someone who didn’t understand consequences. He didn’t have any comprehension of what could happen, what it actually meant. . . . I wish I could have spoken to him back then. I wish things hadn’t turned out the way they did. Yeah, fuck, you know, but you can’t change any of that. You can only move forward. But certainly, there’s a lot of regret around that. . . . I’ve done my best to address my shortcomings such as they were, and I’m satisfied with those efforts. If I had one last thing to say, I’d say I regret the people I’ve hurt and the pain I’ve caused them.
This poignant confession reveals a man grappling with the weight of his past actions, a sentiment echoed by those who knew him in his later years. Despite the gravity of his crime, Peter Collins sought redemption and understanding, using his art as a means of both personal reflection and a powerful critique of the system that held him captive.
Within the walls of Canada’s correctional facilities, Peter Collins discovered a potent outlet for his experiences and observations: art. According to his sister, Lucy Collins, Peter began his artistic journey in the 1980s, shortly after beginning his life sentence, with detailed pen and ink drawings of birds of prey. These early works laid the foundation for an expansive artistic practice that would eventually encompass painting, mixed media, video, writing, and audio-based projects.
Regardless of the medium, a central, unwavering theme permeated Peter’s oeuvre: the systemic failures of the Correctional Service Canada. His art consistently highlighted the CSC’s inability to provide adequate care for struggling individuals, its purported failure to “rehabilitate” inmates, and its fundamental lack of vision beyond the punitive confines of prison walls. His pieces, often circulated within the prison system and shared with those on the outside through intricately designed envelopes, became silent yet powerful testimonies to the realities of incarceration.
Fly in the Ointment (2015), created in the final year of Peter’s life, stands as a stark and compelling example of his artistic approach. The video, characterized by its cold, grey and white-blue palette, presents a visually arresting metaphor for solitary confinement. A fly trapped inside an inverted glass jar becomes a potent symbol of isolation, while Peter’s calm, diaristic narration, recorded within Bath Institution, a medium-security prison in Ontario, provides a chilling account of the psychological and physical torture of solitary confinement. The stark visuals, filmed by collaborators on the outside including Sheenah Jennings, Martin Zeilinger, Suzanne Fish, and Judith Muster, juxtaposed with Peter’s contemplative voice-over, reveal his remarkable resilience and survival strategies within an oppressive environment. In one particularly visceral segment, he recounts creating a macabre “ointment” of blood and spit to attract flies to his skin, finding a bizarre form of companionship in his isolation:
I spread some of the mixture on the sensitive area of my neck. This “unconventional relationship” has gone on for decades, and while I can’t recall how many flies have kept me company throughout my incarceration, I can say I appreciated the moments that they allowed me to dream that I was somewhere else with someone I loved.
The video concludes with a slow zoom into the motionless fly within the jar, the screen fading to black, leaving a lingering sense of claustrophobia and despair. However, Fly in the Ointment transcends mere meditation; it serves as a powerful call to action. The video’s end credits provide links to crucial online resources and prison abolition organizations like Critical Resistance, equipping viewers with practical tools for political engagement. Despite its restricted access within prison walls, Fly in the Ointment achieved significant reach, screening at numerous film festivals and readily available on YouTube, though Peter himself never witnessed the completed work. Instead, his outside collaborators sent him printed stills, sequenced like a flipbook, to convey a sense of the moving image.
In contrast to the stark intensity of Fly in the Ointment, Peter’s Jailbird (2011) series, a collection of 2-D mixed media works on paper created over two years, adopts a different tone, exploring landscapes both within and beyond the prison perimeter. These intricately detailed pieces depict prison architecture, wildlife, and especially birds, reflecting Peter’s profound connection with the natural world even in confinement. In a 2012 statement about the series, Peter articulated his vision: “The more I look at these paintings, the more I would like to continue to create paintings that represent the many different birds that travel to all the different prisons across this planet, bringing with them, on the wing, the hope and promise of something other than imprisonment.”
Works like Sparrow by the Window, Peregrine Falcon and Wall, and Great Horned Owl and Field exemplify this theme. Sparrow by the Window portrays a small bird nestled between a brick wall and cell bars, evoking a sense of precarious confinement. Peregrine Falcon and Wall offers a low-angle perspective of a falcon perched atop a towering concrete wall, emphasizing the imposing nature of prison architecture. Great Horned Owl and Field places the prison in the distant background, with an owl on a fence post staring directly at the viewer, suggesting a world beyond incarceration. Through these animal subjects, Peter explored themes of freedom, resilience, and the yearning for life beyond prison walls.
Peter’s artistic focus extended beyond his personal experiences to encompass the struggles of others within the prison system. His drawing Aboriginal Strategy (2012), featured in the 2015–2016 Certain Days Freedom for Political Prisoners Calendar, powerfully illustrates this broader concern.
The piece is a dense visual tapestry of razor wire, security cameras, and fencing, overlaid with phrases such as “Poverty Tipping Point,” “Canada’s Mental Health Care Unit,” and “Prison,” underscoring the systemic ways incarceration functions as a tool of control against marginalized populations. Peter’s commitment to Indigenous solidarity was further evident in his 1990 drawing Stolen Land, created during the Oka Crisis. This work, reproduced on T-shirts, was gifted to Elijah Harper, then Chief of the Red Sucker Lake First Nation. Peter’s advocacy for Indigenous rights extended to his own immigration hearing, where he refused to stand for the judge until Indigenous representatives were present, highlighting his belief in the ongoing colonization and disproportionate incarceration of Indigenous peoples in Canada.
Another deeply impactful work, Annie Gurlle (2014), is a hand-painted graphic novel created in response to the tragic death of Ashley Smith.
Smith, a nineteen-year-old who died from self-strangulation in solitary confinement at the Grand Valley Institution for Women in 2009, became a symbol of the devastating consequences of prolonged isolation and inadequate mental health care within the prison system. Annie Gurlle poignantly captures the anguish and terror experienced by women like Ashley Smith, depicting scenes of confinement and despair. Peter’s friend Dug recalled a powerful portrait of Smith that Peter created, which was later confiscated by guards and never returned, illustrating the censorship and suppression Peter faced for his art. Robert Collins and Joan Ruzsa considered Annie Gurlle one of Peter’s most significant projects, reflecting his deep empathy for the countless women facing similar situations within the prison system.
Despite his incarceration, Peter Collins’ art resonated far beyond prison walls. Giselle Dias, who connected with Peter through the Prison Arts Foundation in 1995, maintained a long-lasting friendship and collaborative relationship with him. Dias recounted the challenges Peter faced in comprehending the extensive reach and impact of his work. She and others made it a point to convey to Peter how deeply people were moved and influenced by his art. His poster Pelican (2011), created in solidarity with the Pelican Bay hunger strike, became a particularly powerful example of his widespread influence.
The Pelican Bay hunger strike, initiated by inmates in California’s supermax prison in 2011 to protest solitary confinement, became a pivotal moment in prison activism. Peter’s Pelican poster, embodying the strikers’ “Agreement to End Hostilities,” a call for unity across racial lines against the prison industrial complex, circulated widely throughout Canada and the United States through independent media and prison justice networks. As a white Canadian prisoner, Peter’s solidarity with the predominantly non-white Pelican Bay strikers transcended racial and national boundaries, demonstrating the unifying power of art in the fight for prison reform.
Peter’s artistic and activist endeavors were not without consequence. Despite his role as a CSC-appointed peer counselor, his art, often critical of the prison system, drew intense scrutiny from the CSC administration. His politically charged messages were frequently reported to the Parole Board of Canada, impacting his parole prospects. According to Robert Collins and Joan Ruzsa, the CSC even established a “censorship board” specifically targeting Peter, and his artwork was used against him during parole hearings as evidence of his defiance and challenge to authority. Despite numerous parole hearings, Peter was never granted release. Robert Collins believed that while fellow prisoners respected Peter’s integrity, even if they didn’t always understand his approach, prison authorities viewed him as a “troublemaker” and a target for bureaucratic oppression.
Peter Collins died of cancer in the summer of 2015 at the age of 53, after spending 32 years incarcerated at Bath Institution. In the final months of his life, activists mobilized to provide him with a hospital bed to improve his comfort. Despite multiple requests for parole and compassionate release, typically granted to terminally ill prisoners, Peter’s were consistently denied, a decision his friends and family attributed to the CSC’s punitive response to his art and activism. His brother, Chris Collins, documented Peter’s mistreatment and neglect by the CSC in his blog Cow’s Tongue, detailing instances of delayed medical care, denial of pain medication, and general disregard for Peter’s suffering in his final days.
Despite the hardships and injustices he faced, Peter Collins’ life and art were deeply rooted in care and compassion. Giselle Dias recalls Peter’s unwavering desire to be a better person, acknowledging the irreparable harm he had caused while striving to make amends. His commitment to speaking out against injustice, even at personal cost, stemmed from a profound sense of responsibility and a desire to create a more humane world. Marty, a fellow inmate, affectionately nicknamed Peter “Dr. Dolittle” due to his deep love for animals. He was known for creating makeshift shelters for injured birds within the prison, repurposing mosquito screens into safe havens.
Even these small acts of kindness were met with resistance from the CSC, who destroyed the bird shelters, perceiving them as further acts of defiance. Undeterred, Peter continued to care for birds, enlisting other inmates to help, demonstrating his ability to inspire compassion and collective action even within the confines of prison. Dias emphasizes Peter’s enduring legacy of integrity and compassion:
When I think of Peter I think of his integrity and compassion. He always stood up for what he believed in, despite the consequences. He had high expectations of himself and others. He asked that people be accountable for their actions and live with integrity and kindness. Peter wanted to influence others to think more critically and be more respectful of all living things. Peter wanted the world to be a better place and each day he contributed to making that happen.
As Peter’s memorial concluded, attendees embraced, shared memories, and quietly dispersed into the Montreal night. The author, reflecting on Peter’s life and work, shared Fly in the Ointment with her father, sparking a conversation about incarceration and the resilience of the human spirit. Her father’s response to the video encapsulated the profound impact of Peter’s art:
Hey Sheena. Watched the video. Very powerful in the way he describes his escapism from isolation, goes to show what the human brain can do to compensate the lack of human interaction. No matter how bizarre it may appear to others, you have to survive. –Dad
Peter Collins’ life, though marked by tragedy and confinement, stands as a powerful testament to the enduring strength of the human spirit, the transformative power of art, and the unwavering importance of speaking truth to power, even from within the most restrictive of spaces. He was not just an artist or an activist; he was a voice for the voiceless, a beacon of compassion in the darkness of the prison system, and a reminder of the urgent need for prison reform and social justice.
Sheena Hoszko is a sculptor living and working in Montreal. Her practice examines materiality as it relates to power dynamics by mapping geographic and architectural sites. She obtains these measurements by walking the perimeter, by transcribing oral histories,and via access to information requests. She studied at the Emily Carr University of Art + Design and obtained an MFA from Concordia University, where she received SSHRC funding for her research on feminism and post-minimalism. Selected solo exhibitions include Centre Clark and La Centrale (Montreal), A Space (Toronto), Artspace (Peterborough) and upcoming shows at The New Gallery (Calgary) and Forest City Gallery (London).
