Ask artist Mike Latham where he bought his shirt or jacket or even his sneakers, and the answer isn’t simple. Every stitch of clothing he wears is of his own design and was custom-made for him in Vietnam.

“You know how you have your favorite shirt?” he asked. “I got tired of that shirt being at the dry cleaner all of the time.”

Thanks to his team of stylists, designers, and tailors, Mr. Latham has created his own uniform, and he’s sticking with it. “I don’t have to wear other people’s clothes,” he said. “Ever.”

Designed in collaboration with John Mollett, a bespoke men’s clothing designer, his wardrobe includes more than 200 pieces that can cover any occasion — from the boardroom to the beach — and all four seasons. The two men traveled to a location that they won’t disclose to have the articles of clothing hand-made. And Mr. Latham can’t, or won’t, cite the exact cost of his endeavor. “Like a lot of things in the art world,” he said, “these items have not been paid for in a standard way.”

Now, in a project mixing equal parts fashion and performance, Mr. Latham wears his creations every day. “It’s essentially a performance piece,” he said. “But it lasts forever.”

One of Mr. Latham’s Helmut Lang suits from 1997 was a starting point of inspiration, and if you glance quickly, the wardrobe looks a whole lot like late-1990s Lang: sleek black pants and blazers, elegant white shirts and silk ties, and casual pieces with the allure of ease, refinement, and expense. The clothes are made from a variety of textiles including cotton, linen, multi-fabric blends, and some vintage materials. Together these crisp, intelligent pieces seem more suited to a hedge fund manager than a downtown artist, but they fit Mr. Latham just right — mainly because they were all tailored for him.

But that’s not the only thing that separates these clothes from other collections of luxury menswear. The logo for Mr. Latham’s company, Arts Corporation, is a bar code, and it is featured prominently in his wardrobe; it is sewn into hand-stitched labels, but it is also the decoration on his leather sneakers and sandals. It’s discreetly on the hem of his trousers. The bar code even shows up on his body: He had the design tattooed under his forearm, and it contains the bar-code translation of the last four digits of his social security number.

No, this does not put him at security risk. And no, he has not tried to scan himself. But he does enjoy having people ponder these and other questions about the blurring of the boundaries between fashion and art, the excesses of branding, and the interplay between security and freedom. “All these things exist, and I’m drawing the connections between them. And in a way, that’s what I’m asking people to do,” he said.

Mr. Latham, 32, grew up in Palm Beach, Fla., and Miami. A latecomer to the art world, he discovered his artistic passion as an undergraduate at Columbia University. He obtained a degree from the Graduate School of Architecture, but chose not to work for a firm. In 2000, he started his company, Arts Corporation. Headquartered on Great Jones Street in SoHo, it creates installations, film, and interior design, as well as small-scale architecture projects. Last March, Pulse New York commissioned Mr. Latham to do a public installation for the fair. For Art Basel Miami Beach, Mr. Latham created a robot of the New York gallery owner Jan Krugier, who could then circulate at the fair while teleconferencing with his staff and clients in his booth. Mr. Latham is currently working on a DJ booth that he calls a “mobile sound sculpture” for the German DJ Magnus Bischofberger. “I’ve never been interested in making large buildings,” he said. “But I’m fascinated by small environments.”

For now, Mr. Latham has created an art project for his own small, intimate environment, and he’s able to bring his artfulness wherever he goes. That the wardrobe leaves little room to separate the man from his work is not a problem — it is one of the essential points of his endeavor. Mr. Latham has a home on Shelter Island that he designed and a one-bedroom apartment on 13th Street, but admits he spends the vast majority of his time in his studio on Great Jones Street. Set up for group work, it is a whimsical lab, filled with clever-looking inventions on wheels. There’s a coffeemaker/alarm, a couple of robots, and pivoting bookcases that recall James Bond — plus bottles of Veuve Clicquot and packs of Dunhill Internationals strewn about. As he moves around the space, introducing projects and concepts in alternating states of authority and amusement, he creates the aura of an arty Never-Never Land, where geniuses gather to come up with ideas and technicians make it happen.

The only taboo is to ask about the bottom line. “None of your business,” Mr. Latham said, with a little edge to his good cheer. “I love the concept that this is a business, and that I’ve got very important business things to do. At the end of the day, that’s a fallacy — even when you’re working in a tower on Park Avenue. It’s not like you can’t just walk outside and end the illusion that you’ve got your suit on and you’re very important.”

Mr. Latham would much prefer to discuss his work. The wardrobe, he says, is a reliable conversation starter, frequently saving him from gabbing at social gatherings. “Small talk has always bothered me,” he said. “I don’t have a lot of ability to be pleasant on a superficial level, and for first impressions, the wardrobe cuts through that.”

He’s also limiting the pesky morning conundrum of searching for his favorite shirt and what to wear in its place — saving tens of minutes a day, which, over a lifetime, can really add up.