Mr. Kuehnle, who turns 37 this month, created his first inflatable a decade ago, shortly before earning his M.F.A. He began sewing oversized, air-filled, attention-getting costumes that caught the wind, sometimes blowing him into traffic or toppling him over. His largest suit to date is a 600-pound amphibious model he fabricated in 2014, when he participated in “State of the Art: Discovering American Art Now” at Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art in Bentonville, Ark.

Two of Mr. Kuehnle’s costumes are on view at the Hudson River Museum. One, “Hello. Bye.,” has the two words of its title printed in puffy yellow letters on opposite sides. The costume, with its bulging red arrows pointing this way and that, would swallow most of the artist if he were wearing it. His face would be visible from the front while his feet would stick out the bottom. “I don’t like captive performance,” he said. “With this, I can communicate with people even if they don’t want to give me the time of day.”

A second suit included in the exhibition, “You Wear What I Wear,” features dozens of purple, pink and orange dangling appendages. “I made this one so the air can flow through all the spaces,” Mr. Kuehnle said. “It looks really big but I can spin around in it. I can run as fast as anything. It’s like my Miata.”

While acknowledging the pure fun of Mr. Kuehnle’s suits, Bartholomew Bland, the curator of “Tongue in Cheek” and the museum’s former deputy director, offered a more theoretical perspective. Mr. Bland, who is now director of the Lehman College Art Gallery in the Bronx, noted a parallel between Mr. Kuehnle’s costumes and the “Soundsuits” created by the fashion and sculpture artist Nick Cave. Mr. Bland placed the two men within a contemporary artistic trend: “It’s this idea of concealment,” he said, “of enclosure and disguise. The suits are a kind of battalion armor. When you’re inside them, you can lose your inhibitions. You can become one of Jimmy’s characters. You can be somebody else.”

Image Mr. Kuehnle in the museum with “Hot Polyester Bladder Lung,” left, and “Please, no Smash.”

In the adjacent lower main gallery, two enormous works become players in a perpetually thwarted but eternally hopeful love story. The pieces, the fuchsia “Please, no smash”and the bright yellow “Hot Polyester Bladder Lung,” their fans humming, occupy the entire space save for several passageways, some requiring museumgoers to shove their way through.

Both works are illuminated from inside. “Please, no smash,” from 2015, is static, squished in from floor to ceiling. Like the punch bubbles that ring the Glenview spire, it is a clock, with lights on its lower extremities that blink in quarter-hour increments.