God, I have no idea how to start this. Perhaps the beginning will be a good place. I am taking a Humanities course in college at the moment, and my final project is a research paper about my personal views of art as a whole. What does art mean, how does art feel, the whole shebang. But I don't know much about "traditional" art. I'm a relatively smart guy, I know that art is multifaceted and has a litany of purposes depending on who makes it and who sees it. But I don't actually have much of a dog in the fight, you know? That's why I'm changing the game - rather than focusing on painted works or written words, I want to spin this paper around the thing I love talking about more than nearly anything.
Let's talk about videogames. I know, I know - this isn't exactly a novel approach. Videogames under the lens of art are the "get out of jail free" card for every nerd in high school who doesn't wanna touch classical forms with a ten foot pole. And these days, most people would be hard-pressed to argue that these multi-million dollar entertainment giants don't have some level of artistic merit to them. But you wanna know the real reason I chose this topic? I have so much fun writing about games and how they make me feel. If you ever wonder why so much of the world is built around gamification now, it's because giving simple agency to people who otherwise wouldn't know how to grab it for themselves is powerful. It is taking a linear path and turning it into something that you can experience for yourself, tune to your own whims, and alter ever-so-slightly as a form of rebellion against an unrelenting world that you largely cannot change. Videogames are, in my opinion, about self-expression and kindness at their core, regardless of the subject matter. To play a game, you have to be a bit indulgent with your own tastes, and you have to reveal a bit of yourself in order to get the best experience out of it. Playing a game as an uninterested, unbothered party gives you nothing but a load of wasted time. And for developers, no matter the intention or the budget, there is a certain point where you have to ask "what do I think people will like?" Creating something you at least kind of enjoy, with the intention of hopefully bringing joy to someone else in turn.
If you've noticed, these traits are also a defining part of traditional art forms. Painting, writing, sculpting, underwater basket-weaving, LED lightshowing, and literally anything else that you can consider "art" is all tied back to self-expression and giving people something to enjoy. I can hear your thoughts already, and yes, money will always be a factor in life (for art or otherwise); but a hard worker on an assembly line isn't getting much self-expression out of their tire inspections. Art is anything that can be done simply for the sake of it, that can hold a little piece of you alongside it, because you find it fun. As a creator, and as a consumer.
Having fun serves as the backbone of the whole operation when it comes to gaming. Born in the early aughts, I grew up with the videogame industry booming around me. My first console was a Playstation 2 that my parents bought me, and as one of my first identifiable memories, I can say that I'll always be grateful for it. My parents weren't too worried about game violence affecting my brain chemistry or whathaveyou, as I distinctly remember having the time of my life playing the early Call of Duty series with my mom and dad in the living room. It was...perfect. We all just had fun together, learning how to play these games on this new console and enjoying every second of it. Many games followed, including the likes of Guitar Hero, Harry Potter and the occasional PGA Tour, and those experiences brought us closer together. It was collective enjoyment of a piece of media that we could all interact with, building memories along the way. And I wouldn't trade that for anything.
But is it weird that I don't actually play a lot of videogames these days? I try a ton, yet not many games stick with me all the way through. I had the same issue for years with books; I would start a book or a series, get most of the way through, then realize all at once that I had fallen out of love with it. I've noticed that recently, from around 2019 to the present, I have had this problem much more frequently. My time is more limited, more fractured, and I find myself unwilling to waste more of it on endeavors that don't interest me. But that doesn't stop me from coming back to games that I love. One such title is The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. My parents got me this game in...2012? Maybe 2013? And for the next ten years of my life, hardly a single week went by without the Nordic soundtrack playing in my head as I explored the wintry province of Skyrim, passing the same caves and castles and corridors that I know so well. It doesn't take much effort for me to come crawling back into Skyrim's ironically warm embrace, yet I find that it isn't the story that draws this devotion from me. Nor is it the aging graphical fidelity, and the artistic style that defined an era. It's the freedom. The game has, from day one, given me the freedom to choose what I want to do and where I want to go. It guides me down the main questline, but does not force me to follow; it shows me the distant sights, but does not drag me along for the ride. I can ignore whatever I wish, go wherever my whims take me, because Skyrim is not designed just to facilitate the ending: it is designed to let you escape.
Escaping is why I like art, in general. It is a way for me to put the world on pause, gathering my emotions and thoughts in a confined space. Artistic works can provide vital perspective for the audience, helping to recontextualize their own experiences under a new light. A prime example of this in my own life is through another: Life is Strange. Specifically the prequel, Before the Storm. All the Life is Strange games have a really strong emotional core, but the first game I played in the series was a prequel. Set in the small coastal town of Arcadia Bay, Oregon, this game puts you in the shoes of Chloe Price - a rebellious teenager with more baggage than anyone should have to handle. Her dad passed away a few years ago, and within days of his passing, her best friend moved to another state without even saying goodbye. Before the Storm is a game about growing up, letting go, and healing. It's mostly linear in terms of exploration, a far cry from Skyrim's open world, but it makes up for that with dozens of small choices that can change the narrative. Chloe's journey can diverge in stark ways, ranging from small changes in dialogue to an entirely different finale that depends on who your version of Chloe Price actually is. Does she use her father's memory to fuel her anger, or to show compassion? Can she accept her best friend's decision to move away and move on, or will it haunt her forevermore? Is she ready to meet new people and move on, herself?
Of course, this game serves as a prequel to an existing story, so many of these questions are answered by nature of Chloe is by the first game. But that isn't the point, really. After this game, the series (largely) moved on from Arcadia Bay and Chloe Price. Before the Storm gave closure to an audience that wasn't ready to move on from the first game, and in it's creation, it serves as a time capsule. Shrodinger's game, where the future that awaits Chloe can be...whatever you make of it.
When I completed Life is Strange: Before the Storm back in 2017, I cried. I have nothing surface-level in common with this teenage rebel, and hardly nothing emotionally in common either. But growing up, seeing your life change around you and feeling powerless to stop it? I know that feeling all too well. I've known it since 2017, the year that I started high school, and I know it now. Playing Before the Storm is like holding onto the memory of being a kid for one last time, then letting it pass between your fingers with the years gone by. And that is the emotional weight a game can have; taking someone else's life and helping you empathize with it.
Videogames have always been a part of my life. Though the last few years have dulled my sense of excitement at new titles, they haven't dulled my appreciation for fictional worlds and the people who bring them to life. Playing Call of Duty and Guitar Hero on the PS2 taught me how to have fun as an introvert, and it showed me that good games can bring family together. Experiencing Skyrim for the first time opened my eyes to the level of freedom that videogames could provide, which astounded me as someone who had only played linear titles up to that point. And Before the Storm revealed a bit of myself in the bittersweet memories of Chloe Price, forcing me to face my own struggles head-on. The fun, the freedom, and the heart that gaming can instill in people never fails to amaze me, and it's that amazement that keeps me engaged in the future of the games industry and the medium as a whole. Because videogames are art. And art makes life worth living. Thanks for reading.
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