Build 02
Put it on the internet
Your page exists, but only on your screen. One button turns it into a real link anyone can open. About 10 minutes, still costs nothing, and there's one thing to understand before you press it.
Last time you asked for a page and a real one appeared. Here’s the thing nobody says out loud about that moment:
It only exists on your screen. Close the tab and nobody has ever seen it.
A thing only you can see isn’t on the internet yet. It’s a draft with good lighting.
This one fixes that. Same page, one button, and it becomes a link you can text to someone.
Step 1 — open the page you made
Go back to claude.ai and open the conversation from Build 01. Your page is still there in the panel on the right.
If you’d rather start fresh, ask for a new one the same way you did before. This works on any page you build.
Step 2 — find Publish
At the top of that panel there’s a Publish button. Press it.
You’ll get a link that looks like claude.ai/public/artifacts/ followed by a long string of characters. That’s your page. That’s a real address on the internet.
(If the panel isn’t behaving at all, check Settings → Capabilities and make sure “Code execution and file creation” is on. It’s on by default, so this is only if something’s clearly broken.)
Step 3 — prove it’s real
This is the step people skip, and it’s the best one.
Open a private or incognito window. Paste the link. Press enter.
That window doesn’t know who you are. It isn’t signed into your account. And your page loads anyway.
That’s the proof. It’s not on your computer anymore. It’s on the internet. Send it to someone.
Read this before you publish anything else
Published means published. Anyone with the link can open it, and there is no password and no expiry.
This is not a theoretical worry. In late July 2026 it came out that Claude’s public share and artifact pages were missing the tag that tells search engines to stay away, and Google had indexed a pile of them. People found strangers’ medical records, internal company documents, and primary-school children’s phone numbers just by searching. Anthropic added the tag within about a day.
So treat a published page like a flyer on a noticeboard rather than a note in your pocket.
Before you press Publish, read your own page back. In Build 01 I had you ask for “a way to reach me,” and whatever the AI put there is about to sit on a public link with no password on it. A work email is fine. Your phone number and your address are fine too, if you actually meant to hand them to strangers. Most people don’t, and they never look before they publish. Same goes for anyone else’s details that ended up on the page, or a document you’d hate a stranger to read.
One honest thing nobody tells you
Two things about this link will annoy you eventually, and I’d rather you hear them now than discover them.
It’s not your own domain. It’s an address on Anthropic’s site, not yourname.com. That’s a later build and it’s a real one. A link anyone can open is the win today, and it was always the hard part.
Unpublishing is permanent. If you take a page down, that same page can never be published again. You’d build a new one. So when you want to change something, the move is: fix the page, publish it fresh, and share the new link.
Neither of those makes it fake. Plenty of real things on the internet live at an address someone else owns.
Where you are now
Build 01 gave you a thing you made. This one gave you a thing you can hand to someone.
That’s the whole difference between having an idea and having something to show. You can send this to a friend, put it in a bio, or reply to someone asking what you’ve been up to with a link instead of a description.
You build things, and now other people can see them.
In the next lesson
Here’s the thing you might already be feeling and can’t name yet: it looks a bit like every other page.
That’s not you. The AI hands everyone the same generic version (the same stacked boxes, the same layout) even when you asked it not to. It isn’t being sneaky. That’s just what it reaches for unless you know how to push back, and next time you’ll know, with the two moves that actually work.
Send me the next one →