LeDray’s Mens Suits, which is set in a disused fire station in Marylebone

For three years, American artist Charles LeDray has been meticulously crafting Mens Suits, his first exhibition in the UK, commissioned by Artangel. Sitting in a disused fire station, three ‘scenes’ suggest the interiors of charity shops. Without walls and with their own miniature floor tiles, the little replicas sit directly on the floor. Each has a ceiling, suspended below shoulder height. By crouching down to peer into the scenes, you can get a sense of the level of detail: polystyrene ceiling tiles come complete with cobwebs, normally seen teased by air conditioning units in office buildings.

Within this floor-and-ceiling sandwich, the self-taught artist has hand sewn garments, each of which is smaller than reality, but too large to be dolls’ clothes. They are hung and placed on carefully crafted furniture, which, apart from the scale, are exact copies of common shop furnishings. The attention to detail is astounding: LeDray has even arranged dust above the ceilings, to represent the spaces the cleaner couldn’t reach.

The first scene resembles a sorting room or basement of a thrift store. Garments are piled on small-scale ironing boards and a dirty sock is slung over a crate. The second is an interior in which two circular racks support suit jackets on hangers and a central table has a layer of neatly folded tops. The final scene is of a more organised interior, with a table of assorted ties and a mannequin in a suit that looks fit for a used-car salesman.

LeDray’s Mens Suits, which is set in a disused fire station in Marylebone

It is this stereotyping and familiarity that connects one to the exhibition. I often found myself picturing the people who once owned the clothes: a hanging suit jacket reminded me of the businessman with a grey-speckled beard I had seen on the train that morning. The clothes also begin to embody issues such as rich and poor, and old and young, and serves to show the effect clothing has on our judgement of others.

Rather than being displayed on podiums and raised to eye-level, there was something very surreal about the way the scenes lay on the floor, forcing visitors stoop to see them. In the dark and cold room, the three scenes created pools of yellowy light, like marooned dreams. I raised a smile at the subtlety of the little sets that are so modest they could be mistaken for being the standard decor of any fire station. Peering down at them was like spying on another world or witnessing a scene from a story.

It is hard to ignore the absence of people. There are clues to their presence, however: black rubber marks where carts had stocked the shop; clothes strewn in the sorting area, and a vest unfolded in the shop, where someone must have looked at it, but then decided against buying. Is the shop closed for the night with everyone returning to their families? Or is it something worse? Perhaps a post-apocalyptic scene, where no one is alive and the clothes are left as traces of identity?

Whatever one’s interpretation, LeDray seems to invite it. The incredible detail is proof of the careful choices the artist has made, arranging clues and allowing the visitor to play detective. This is more than a collection of ‘cute’ garments. Mens Suits can take on many different meanings, depending on the stories we choose to give them.

Charles Ledray: Mens Suits, 11 July-18 October, The Fire Station, W1