James T. Green is a conceptual artist, radio producer, writer, and educator from Chicago, Illinois, and now in Brooklyn, New York.

thoughts + feelings

that may or may not exist

103: a july baby that loves birds

I recently downloaded my Facebook data. A ZIP file that was a treasure trough of my life from summer of 2007 to September 1st 2019, the day I decided to deactivate.

Pixelated T-Mobile Sidekick camera phone photos mixed with Kodak point and shoot tags of Chicago streets, a cigarette in my hand with a floppy beanie and an Urban Outfitters plaid shirt. Wall posts filled with references to first year art student deep thoughts. Pokes, flirts, and plans to ditch figure drawing class.




One of my group chats has been obsessed with algorithm shirts and ads that follow us on the internet. Fed by our interests, it seems that clothing is the final form of making an algorithm exist as matter, bits of code that becomes an expression we wear.

Gizmodo got down to the bottom of this in 2015. Companies are able to, at scale, create an infinite amount of wearable “content” that is made just for you. A build-a-bear for your body, wearing the data you provide.


Jamestgreen89 2 2.zip is my name to Facebook.

It weighs 88.3MB.

The advertisers that uploaded a contact list with my information includes: 2Chainz, car dealerships in suburban Chicago cities that I’ve driven through, hotels I’ve stayed at, Glossier, jazz centers, JetBlue, more car dealerships hopefully trying to sway my millennial self to make a large purchase of a thing I don’t need, Old Bay seasoning, protein companies, “sparkling ice”, and more car dealerships from cities I’ve driven through during the course of moving from Chicago to New York.

Memorable photos are named 204820_10150210053941979_4687477_o_10150210053941979.jpg, 326096_10150476638151979_1684489776_o_10150476638151979.jpg, and my personal favorite, 162133_10150223047986979_10150223047506979_52038_565_b.jpg.


It’s interesting that usually information like this referred to as a data dump. This folder sits in my downloads, along with the rest of my digital ephemera. My fingerprint of my last decade on the internet removed from context.

Trawling through these folders feels like emptying the trash bin of a vacuum cleaner. You are aware of all the dust in your home, but only when you are face to face with it, as it slides out of the bag and into the trash, do you see the vastness.

James T. Green