Summary
When people say a game “looks good,” what they’re generally referring to is the graphics — high resolution, realistic lighting, sharp textures. Art design is something different, however. In a game, art design is the visual expression of the game that is provided by colors, light, shape, animations, style of surroundings, portrayal of the avatars, etc. The point isn’t how real something looks but how a world feels, what it communicates, and what it leaves behind.
Brilliant art design adds personalityto a game. It establishes its mood before anyone says a word. It tells the player the type of world they find themselves in, and what kind of message that particular world is in the business of sending. Whether it’s the muted oil-paint aesthetic of a crumbling city or the saturated chaos of a neon apocalypse, art direction can turn simple exploration into something emotional, even unforgettable.
The 2009 game from Pandemic Studios takes place in Nazi-occupied Paris. The gameworld begins drenched in black and white, with only banners, lights, and Nazi armbands in red. This works as a visual chokehold on the city. Color bleeds back into the streets, cafés, and rooftops as players complete missions and liberate neighborhoods.
One of the most exciting moments comes when players liberate Montmartre: the area instantly shifts from monochrome to vibrant life. Neon signs flicker on, people emerge onto the streets, and the Eiffel Tower appears in the distance. The art design also works as a subtle way to track progression. There are no progress bars or checklists. Instead, the game lets players know where they need to be and what they need to do purely through its visuals. As the character enters a district, the absence of color let’s players know that it still needs to be liberated. This makes the world itself a dynamic progress tracker.
No Man’s Skyhad a rocky start, but its evolution into one of the most visually forward-thinking experiences in the scene is downright astonishing. Its art design is not after realism — instead, it thrives in surreal, stylized beauty. Skies are awash in deep purples and oranges, terrain pulses in saturated colors, and bioluminescent plants paint the landscape as though they were picked straight out of the Avatar movie series. It all feels as if players are wandering through the cover of a 1970s space novel.
The game’s real beauty emerges when players warp into a new solar system.The ship drops out of hyperspaceinto a starfield filled with unfamiliar colors, strange planetary shapes that feel more like a dream than reality. The creatures, plants, and planets encountered are procedurally generated,giving each plant a unique feel and atmosphere. None of them are labeled. None of them discovered. And with the game being as enormous as it is, there’s a good chance no one has ever seen them before. Even the space stations themselves show variations in architectural tone and in lighting. Some feel like sterile research labs, others like neon-lit hubs of a cyberpunk city.
Nearly a decade later andArkham Knightstill holds its own against modern games. Its art direction is filled with gothic architecture and stylized urban decay. The skyline of Gotham is caked in spires, gargoyles, iron work, and grimy industrial buildings that feel hand-placed to establish a mood. Neon signs hum dully through the fog, gangs of thugs huddle around a fire barrel, and the washed-out palette contributes to the sense of unrest and abandonment.
Among the most striking of these is the mid-glide moment when the rain licks down Batman’s armor; the wind snaps at his cape; lights from the police sirens and patrolling drones flicker on the skyline. The level of detail leaves the city feeling at once cinematic and oppressive. There’s a change even in the UI that complements the change of tone and setting. From the previous Arkham games, the UI in Arkham Knight is slimmer, more angular, and more fitting to Batman’s new, armored, more techy suit.
Written byfamed Metal Gear creator Hideo Kojima,Death Strandingis a visual treat just as much as it is a game. Its world is a reimagined post-apocalyptic America, with Icelandic landscapes serving as its source material: rolling hills, jagged rock formations, moss-covered slopes, and rivers that glitter in low cloud cover. Everything feels very quiet, very grim, and very distant. Its art design doesn’t attempt to bury gamers in detail but to pull their focus to space, isolation, and presence.
The game straddles a clean, sci-fi look and down-to-earth realism. Spanning bridges, zip-lines, exoskeletons, and vehicles all feel as though they were created by a civilization desperately trying to reshape and reconnect — streamlined, yet sturdy, worn but forward-thinking. And, everything feels tangible and physical, and every building erected by other players fits snugly in the landscape. The vehicles are stand-outs, too: they are oversized, angular, and almost bug-like, which contributes to the world’s uncanny mix of industrial design and empty wilderness.
What really shines out are the enemies. The ghostly BTs float through the air like human-shaped wisps of smoke, oozing oil and leaving trails of black tar behind them. Their design is a quiet kind of scary, abstract, but threatening — classic Kojima. The characters have his trademark look as well, hyper-detailed faces, layered costuming, gear that’s both tactical and theatrical, and odd names to go along with that. Then there are those moments, as players are shambling across an open field, plotting their next move, the soundtrack starts. Footsteps crunch. Wind howls. The first drops of timefall rain, which ages everything it touches, begin to fall, and suddenly the players realize they’re in a game that’s painting with silence and movement.
Elden Ringdoesn’t just imagine a fallen world — it makes fans feel like they’re walking through the aftermath of something divine and long past. The Lands Between is a world rent by war, decay, and godhood, and the art direction embraces that disillusionment wholeheartedly. Buildings, characters, and even the sky itself seem to be clinging, by threads, to a golden age long past.
The Erdtree casts light down onto the starting region of Limgrave, where an uneasy peace flutters on the breeze. Ancient ruins, decaying forts, and small groups of soldiers make it clear that something more powerful was once present here. But right beyond that, Liurnia of the Lakes shifts the mood altogether. It’s a cold, wet, haunted place—villages sit half-submerged in floodwater, enemies submerged to the waist drag themselves through the shallows, and the distant, towering Academy of Raya Lucaria towers over the region like a fortress of forgotten knowledge. And then there’s Caelid. A full descent into horror. The sky is red, the land is diseased and putrid, and everything alive looks like it crawled out of a nightmare. Enormous mutant dogs hobble across fetid fields. Birds scream through the twisted trees. Undead patrol the roads.
The whole region is infected with Scarlet Rot, which mutates the game’s palette: sickening reds, searing blacks, a kind of visual choking. It’s not just an unfriendly place — it’s a vision of collapse.Elden Ring’sworld is one in which beauty and horror coexist. ’s art design and direction make one thing clear: even gods decay and kingdoms fall.
Where most post-apocalyptic games lean into grit and gloom,Sunset Overdrivedoes the exact opposite. It cranks everything to 11—color, chaos, and creativity. The game’s art direction is pure overload: saturated skies, glowing slime, mutant explosions, and graffiti-soaked buildings that look more like comic panels than ruins.
Enemies are grotesque but cartoonish; weapons and characters, even the UI, have an over-the-top and exaggerated look to them. Traversing the city isn’t just functional—it’s part of the visual spectacle. Grind rails, bounce pads, and wall runs are designed with style first, giving the entire city the feel of an urban skate park designed by a punk graphic designer, which makes the city a character in itself. Sunset Overdrive has a distinct visual identity—loud, messy, and it’s proud of it.
A spin-off of the beloved Far Cry 3,Blood Dragontakes everything fans know about the series and runs it through an ’80s fever dream. The result? A highly distinctive style and tribute to action movies, it’s all neon on celluloid; each frame is saturated with a neon glow. Leaning into a retro-futuristic aesthetic that draws on classics like The Terminator and RoboCop, both films are sources of inspiration and are quite directly referenced by both weapons and characters from the game. If it exists in this world, it’s probably got some hot pink, radioactive green, or electric blue in it.
The sky has a grainy, VHS haze to it. The user interface is all in keeping with a synth-wave aesthetic; animals have bright neon eyes and silvery metal skin. Weapons pulse with energy like LED flashes, and enemies explode into brilliant showers of neon light. The story unfolds in cut-scenes that look like they came right out of a relic from comic book ages. And then there’s the titular Blood Dragons—massive, neon-drenched creatures with laser eyes and color-changing highlights that telegraph their current mood.
The neon-filled, exaggerated art design has a functional purpose. Enemies and animals are highlighted with bold colors, and the Blood Dragons showcase their moods through shifting neon glows. This eliminates the need for excessive HUD clutter; everything important is conveyed through visual cues.The art design doesn’t just support a bombastic approach to gameplay but actively encourages it.
Disco Elysium has no combat.There are no boss fights, no action set pieces—just exploration, dialogue, and an unraveling mind. Inspired by oil paintings, the world looks like a smudged, decaying canvas. Revachol itself feels like a city of collapsed ideologies and half-buried trauma, and the art reflects that at every turn.
The characters look like they’ve been worn down by the very world they inhabit, stylized, imperfect, and shaped by the political rot around them.Dialogue and choices don’t just affect outcomes; theybleedinto the environment, HUD elements distort, and certain locations seem to warp under the pressure of the character’s psyche. One of the most unforgettable moments is a hallucinated conversation with Dolores Dei, a spectral, saintlike figure tied deeply to the character’s past. She appears bathed in pale light, her form blurred and floating; the scene is awash in soft tones, backed by a mournful soundtrack. It’s hauntingly beautiful, which is how most of the game is.
The game’s music complements the visuals perfectly—melancholic strings, echoing chords, and the ever-present disco music. Together, the score and visuals create a dream-like space where emotions aren’t just felt, instead, they’re rendered in brushstrokes and become a core part of the gameplay.
Ghost of Tsushimaprovides players with a Kurosawa-style samurai movie experience. Every frame looks like it was pulled from the big screen: the landscape ofGhost of Tsushimacomes alive with wind-swept fields and motion, while misty lakes and distant mountains alongside golden forests create a cinematic pause effect. The game implements a vivid color palette with cherry blossoms appearing in bright pinks and dark indigo nights as sunsets and sunrises cover the world in warm lighting.The game delivers a profound sense of being just one part of something far greater, which mirrors its inspiration from Shadow of the Colossus.
Its art direction feeds directly into gameplay. Wind acts as a guide by directing player towards their upcoming mission objectives and map markers. Foxes guide players to secrets while birds lead them to points of interest. The frequency of storms increases as Jin steps into his Ghost identity because of his decisions. And then there’s Kurosawa Mode; a complete total tonal shift. The entire world appears as a stark, high-contrast black-and-white image. The game’s cinematic framing and composition become prominent when its vivid colors are removed. Players will experience a game homage to samurai films from the 1950s and ’60s.
Few games can compare to the art direction ofRed Dead Redemption 2. The world is painstakingly realized: fog winding off distant mountains, golden sunrises breaking over quiet plains, nights spent under open skies that actually feel peaceful. It’s a world that was not designed to be rushed through. The art direction isn’t dependent on flashy gimmicks. Instead, it prioritizes tone — each scene, each light, each shadow is arranged around the emotional weight of the story. From the shadow of a stag against that last dying light of dusk to the way a lantern’s glow dissolves into the swamp mist, fans are supposed to slow down and take everything in fully.
One standout example is the mission “Blood Feuds, Ancient and Modern.” The music picks up as the gang storms Braithwaite Manor at night, the orange of firelight cutting long shadows through the dark, across falling pillars and across busted fences. The whole thing is a perfect example of what the game does so well, matching its heavy narrative beats with art. This extends to its characters. They change how they interact withArthur based on how he acts. Nothing feels static. Everything responds softly and intentionally.Red Dead Redemption 2wants players to slow down, absorb its world, and let the story settle into their bones. That’s realism with intent, tone with substance, and visual storytelling at its absolute finest.
