In 2000, Eva and Franco Mattes made an extraordinary decision: every single piece of information on their personal computer was made accessible to the public, in real time.
Through a single link, anyone could access and download their digital life. Emails—both personal and professional—were left in plain view, waiting to be read. Financial documents, private conversations, artist contracts, photos, and drafts of unfinished projects were laid bare. No passwords. No barriers. Fully uncensored and live. Clicking through folders and files overflowing with data was an intimate glimpse into their existence. Visitors often opened unread messages even before the duo saw the notifications themselves.
This project, titled Life Sharing, ran until 2003 when it became “too difficult to maintain.” In its time, however, Life Sharing pushed the concept of openness to the extreme. For a period, even their physical movements were tracked in real time. A GPS transmitter published their location with precision. Remarkably, this was accomplished using a family-run trucking company’s tracking system, which transmitted their coordinates one JPEG at a time—a striking achievement, especially considering it happened three years before the launch of Google Maps.
But Life Sharing did not just expose the artists, it exposed its audience. Every interaction was recorded—where visitors logged in from, which files they accessed, and how long they lingered. Curious strangers exploring the duo’s computer left their digital fingerprints, which also became publicly accessible on the website. These traces became part of the artwork itself, an ironic inversion of surveillance that turned observers into participants.
“File Sharing = Life Sharing,” the project declared. Today, Life Sharing stands as a pioneering and provocative work that explores the intimate dimensions of the digital age. The artist duo transformed their lives and digital footprint into a public exhibit, raising urgent questions about privacy, surveillance, and the boundaries of digital transparency.
For those eager to revisit its daring legacy, the art organization Rhizome restored the project in 2023 as part of the Net Art Anthology, inviting modern audiences to explore the archive of its original files. Visitors to the site are greeted by a pop-up alert declaring, “Now you’re in my computer,” a fitting reminder of the project’s radical intimacy. As a cultural critique, Life Sharing extends far beyond its initial shock value and the exposure of its creators’ lives. It compels us to confront what privacy truly means in an era where sharing has become the default.