The room is dark and the air thick with the sharp scent of chemical developer. In the soft red glow of the darkroom, Pomona College’s professor of art Lisa Auerbach is in her element, turning shadows into photographs. For Auerbach, the darkroom is more than a laboratory. It is a sanctuary: a refreshingly tangible antidote to our digital age.
“Time moves at a very different pace in the darkroom,” Auerbach said.
Auerbach’s practice spans textiles, publishing and political commentary, often crossing between mediums. She describes herself as an interdisciplinary artist, though the term feels almost beside the point. What connects her work is not a specific material, but a commitment to attention, to process, to current events and to the people who encounter her work.
In an era where artists are expected to constantly produce, promote and document their output online, Auerbach seems largely uninterested in keeping up. Her work unfolds at its own pace, driven by curiosity rather than a sense of urgency. The darkroom reinforces this approach. It does not reward efficiency or distraction. There is nothing to scroll through, nothing to check and no way to speed the process along. If you rush, the photograph fails.
That insistence on attention to the present moment extends beyond the darkroom, suffusing all of Auerbach’s work.
“I’ve always been interested in current events,” she said, gesturing toward a knitted sweater from 2008 that reads “Keep Abortion Legal.”
Encountering the sweater in person feels different than encountering a slogan online. It is not optimized for circulation or stripped down for quick consumption. It requires the viewer to be close enough to read it and to stay still long enough to process the words.
In an era where political expression often takes the form of a post that fades into the feed within hours, Auerbach’s work feels permanent, like a physical book that requires your full attention.
Auerbach refuses to categorize her work. “Maybe it’s not activism,” she said. “But at least I’m doing something.” The remark reflects a broader precept: participation without performance. I wish more of us could take inspiration from her approach. My instinct is always to perform, to craft myself for maximum readability. But here, she’s showing me there’s power in simply existing fully in what you do.
After stepping away from social media and trading her iPhone for a pager-style device, Auerbach began posting handwritten signs responding to the news on the gate outside her home. Instead of chasing likes or comments, she sparked conversations with people walking by.
“I now have conversations with actual neighbors walking by with their dogs,” she said. “Maybe if everyone posted on their gate, we’d have a different kind of dialogue.”
Her project is deliberately small and local. It does not claim to solve anything. It simply creates a point of contact in the physical world, at a time when much public discourse feels increasingly abstract. There’s something comforting in protest that doesn’t always have to be big, loud or online. It also makes me think about how tiny gestures in our daily lives, even just taking the time to notice someone or speak to them, can have an outsize impact.
When asked what students should take from her work, Auerbach does not provide a manifesto. Instead she offers practical advice. First, create conditions that allow for focus, whether that is a darkroom, a desk or simply fewer notifications. Second, resist the pressure to curate your life around the world of digital perception.
“Don’t be something that you’re really not,” Auerbach said. “Because in the end, you’re just going to end up being what you are anyway.”
Easier said than done, but definitely worth reminding yourself from time to time.
Like many students, I am rarely fully present with my hobbies. Writing, in particular, has become something I think about doing rather than actually do. Ideas arrive while scrolling, I mentally note them and then forget them by the next video. The scrolling continues. The writing does not. Honestly, I feel guilty admitting how often I’ve let inspiration vanish into the void of TikTok. After talking with Auerbach, I can see what’s possible when you resist that urge.
As I write this column, I am testing her practice. My phone is locked away, my ideas are flowing and as I write, everything is coming together so easily. I feel slightly victorious. It’s not a darkroom, but I can feel the same kind of magic happening at my desk. Her words echo in my mind: “Get rid of your smartphone,” she said. “You’re not going to die.” Maybe she’s right.
In a college environment where the impact of my writing is often measured by visibility and reach, Auerbach offers a model I hope to emulate. As someone who writes for the joy of crafting stories and exploring ideas, I’ve often found myself chasing likes or comments, unsure if my words are reaching anyone in a meaningful way.
What Auerbach’s approach shows me is that writing can be more than performative: It can spark real conversations, create genuine connections and exist outside the pressure of metrics. I want my writing to have that kind of presence: genuinely human and rooted in shared experience — just like the way she engages with her neighbors through the messages on her gate.
If you want to see Auerbach’s work in person, check out the latest exhibition at the Claremont Lewis Museum.
Siena Giacoma PZ ’27, aspiring writer and creative, survives on endless cycles of caffeine, half-written drafts and lofty promises to “finish that book tomorrow.” Her cat, Olive, remains skeptical, offering judgmental stares in place of encouragement.