By critiquing the myth of smart technology, Collins calls into question the practicality of our everyday machines, invoking CDs that judderingly stick; computers that bomb; paranoid car alarms.
Humour infuses the best of Collins' work. She once broadcast sighs, coughs and groans at Nottingham station to infuriate delayed passengers (she succeeded). Other earlier installations include nymphomaniac fruit canoodling while precariously perched on the toned body of a banana.
In Suspect Devices too, sex of an extremely dubious nature is a motif. A predatory camera tracks you, projecting a ghostly hand which fondles your stomach, creeps up to your chest and squeezes before swooping gracefully for the crotch. What makes the image especially disturbing is the fact you can't see the hand as it gropes your body. Only an observer can - a voyeur's dream.
Likewise the animated creatures writhing rhythmically in a suitcase look designed to please a cold, lascivious eye. As the jaws of the case uncannily open, you blink and can't distinguish what is what. Then the two participants jump apart, revealing themselves as a pair of toy dogs. They grunt and sniff each other.
What do you make of the Richmond landscape projected upside-down by a camera obscura? Initially nothing. But if you linger you glimpse a sprinting yeti that vanishes abruptly, and the scene returns to its dreamy calm shared by another item: a field of sheep trapped in a filing cabinet. It's a comment on the notion of the paperless society. When that day dawns, asks Collins, what will we do with our office furniture? The cabinet functions absurdly as a conservation site for our natural heritage.
The one gadget that appears to have a practical purpose is the security camera. But no, according to the catalogue, it's merely to emphasise an interior that is not domestic but official and desolate - a lost property bureau perhaps.
Such prompts are valuable. Unless you look closely at Suspect Devices you miss the magic of this buzzing menagerie.
At the Lea Gallery, The Lux Centre, Hoxton Square, London N1 until 3 October (0171-684 0201). Admission free.Reuse content