I believe that video games have long outgrown the status of mere entertainment. They’ve become a space where technology, visual art, music, storytelling, and interactivity intersect. Because of this, games can evoke real emotions, explore important themes, and give players a chance to express themselves through action. I find it fascinating how developers increasingly use game mechanics as a tool for self-expression. At the same time, players themselves find ways to tell their own stories through this medium.
Gameplay as a Way to Tell a Story
In games, the story isn’t just something you read — it’s something you live through. Life is Strange and Disco Elysium don’t just let you observe the characters, they let you shape who they become. You’re essentially having a dialogue with the game — not through words, but through choices. Every action leaves a mark: whether you lied or told the truth, helped someone or walked past, stayed or left. Even in The Witcher 3, a single decision can affect the fate of an entire kingdom — and that kind of responsibility makes the story not linear, but personal.
In Detroit: Become Human and Until Dawn, the structure makes you feel like a director — but the outcome doesn’t follow a script, it depends on your decisions, mistakes, and impulsive reactions. Even the mechanics themselves can tell a story: in Papers, Please, it happens through routine and bureaucracy, in Inside — through silence and the simple act of pushing forward despite unease.
And in competitive games, where it may seem that only winning matters, the way you play becomes a form of expression. In League of Legends, some players pick meta champions, while others go for off-meta builds every match, refusing to follow the “correct” path and playing in their own way. That’s a kind of identity too — you express yourself through your choices, risks, and strategy. And when I check lol live scores, I’m not just curious about who won — I want to see how the teams played: were they aggressive, cautious, focused on map control or on mechanical outplays? Sometimes a team’s playstyle says more than the final result. All of it becomes a language the player speaks — and every match turns into a short but meaningful story.
Visual Style and Sound as Artistic Tools
Artists and composers working on games don’t just create background elements — they create full-fledged artistic statements. It’s a language that speaks not through words, but through shapes, colors, light, and sound. Take GRIS, for example — every frame looks like a living watercolor painting, where animation blends with the protagonist’s emotions, and the music highlights each step of her internal journey. In Hollow Knight, the sound design, color palette, and deep echo of the underground world evoke a sense of isolation, while simultaneously encouraging exploration. And Journey doesn’t use a single word — only color, wind, music, and the silent presence of another player. Despite its minimalism, the story feels personal and spiritual, thanks to the way everything is visually and sonically arranged.
There are also more experimental examples, like Kentucky Route Zero, where theatrical staging, surrealism, and minimalist audio turn every scene into something that feels both familiar and dreamlike. Or Inside, where nearly everything is built on silence and shadows — the less the game says, the more its meaning is felt. Even in blockbuster titles like Cyberpunk 2077, visual style isn’t just about presenting a futuristic world — it reflects ideas: information overload, neon haze, blurred faces in the crowd — all of it visually reinforces the game’s atmosphere of alienation and identity searching.
To me, visual style in games works like an artist’s signature — impossible to mistake. Just as you can recognize Van Gogh or Monet in painting, you can instantly identify Limbo, Cuphead, or Okami by a single scene. And that proves that games can speak about complex ideas using the language of color and sound — no less powerfully than any other form of art.
The Player as a Co-Creator
Games let you do more than just watch — they let you shape the story. Unlike film or literature, the outcome depends not just on the creator, but also on the player. In Minecraft or The Sims, you build your own world from scratch — its look, its rules, its people. It’s more than a sandbox — it’s a way to express yourself, whether through chaos or careful planning.
In RPGs like Baldur’s Gate 3, this sense of co-authorship goes further. Every choice — your tone, your actions, your allies — shapes the story’s path and ending. One narrative can become many, depending on how you play. It’s more than just progression — it’s a performance where you’re actor, director, and audience at once.
Even in more structured games like Mass Effect or Dragon Age, players shape the experience through moral choices and relationships. You don’t need to write dialogue or design levels to influence the narrative. Just by playing, you become part of the creative process — and that’s what makes games such a powerful artistic medium.
Games as a Mirror of Inner State
Sometimes the games we choose reflect what we’re missing in life. During tough times, some turn to the calm world of Stardew Valley, where life is safe and predictable. Others seek challenge in Dark Souls or Elden Ring, where overcoming hardship becomes a symbol of inner strength. In those moments, games become more than entertainment — they turn into a way of understanding ourselves.
Some titles are built around this idea. Celeste, for example, hides a story about anxiety and self-acceptance beneath its platforming. Every failed attempt and retry mirrors real emotional struggle. Or Spiritfarer, where guiding spirits helps process themes of loss and care without saying it directly.
Even online games reflect our mood — whether we solo-queue in silence or choose mindless grinding over high-pressure matches. I believe games can act as a mirror: how we play, what we choose, and how we handle failure can say more than we realize. Sometimes, the game understands us better than we do.
Conclusion
Games have become a language of their own — one that allows us to talk about complex topics, convey emotions, and express individuality. They’re not a replacement for other forms of art, but a complement to them — offering new tools and formats. I see games as a living, constantly evolving form of art where anyone can find their voice — whether as a developer, an artist, or a player.
