Using Aesthetics

Some of the most prolific video game mods for any game will be texture packs. Texture packs usually don't re-theme a game or change it mechanically. All they do is make a game look more pleasing to the viewer. This illustrates the importance of aesthetics to players.

I'm not trained in aesthetics in the abstract, but most of my higher education was aesthetics training after a fashion. According to Wikipedia, aesthetics "is a branch of philosophy that deals with the nature of beauty and taste, as well the philosophy of art."

Denis Dutton describes aesthetics as having six universal indicators: expertise, non-utilitarian pleasure, style, criticism, imitation, and special focus. Previously, I have written that form (as opposed to function) is another term for aesthetics. Remember that our definition of design on this blog is the relationship between form and function (or content). So, we can look at these six indicators as indicators of design as well. Certainly expertise, criticism, and imitation are obviously elements found in the meta-conversation about well-crafted design. Special focus means that the subject of the work is set above the mundanity of life and imbued with a certain level of drama. Achieving a special focus should not be too difficult for board game designers who already have to distill down a theme to what can be supported by mechanics. 

Non-utilitarian pleasure is where we start to find some difficulty. This is where fights can break out over whether better looking games are more fun to play. I would argue that mechanics appeal to the analytical side of human nature and theme/art appeal to the emotional side. Which you prefer in a game may say more about you than about the game. In this video, Mark Rosewater shares lessons he's learned in his years designing Magic: the Gathering. He argues that aesthetics matter and that "poor implementation is fighting against human nature" because "humans come pre-loaded with emotional responses." We will never all agree on what is "good" and "bad" in art, but as humans, we all have art/art styles we prefer. And chances are, those preferences are emotional and difficult to quantify. In short, just because you don't mind sparse art doesn't mean that that style is the best choice for a game if you are hoping for broad appeal. 

Style in art is the organization of certain distinctives, like color, line-quality, and predominant shapes into categories. In art, we recognize Cubism as distinct from Impressionism. In board game design, we might start by separating games by genre: fantasy, history, horror, modern life, etc. We can look at atmosphere, tension, humor, excitement, peacefulness, drama, heroism, etc. By combining thematic elements and emotional content we see a game's style start to emerge. This can be somewhat separate from the art of a game or can include art and graphic design. Ryan Laukat has a distinctive art style. His games also have a distinctive playfulness and explorative style that would exist even if he were not the artist of his games. 

How is this useful? Game designs need to not just be mechanically appealing, but aesthetically as well. Because aesthetics appeals to us on an emotional level, playtesting must take the emotional feedback of players into account. By developing a style that matches the emotional response we desire, we can strengthen the emotional impact of a game. 

Remember: theme is fun. Art is fun. Excluding aesthetics from design only shrinks your audience. 

"Scene Work" for Board Game Designers

 I'm frequently struck by the similarities between how board game designers talk about general design approaches and my college acting classes. Frequently, I hear designers talk about the overlap of concepts with film studies classes. For the record, film studies is probably a more efficient class to aid in game design, but I only took acting, so that's what I'm looking at.

[I'm using the term 'scene work', because that covers both acting and directing concepts. Board game designers are like the directors of a game experience (more like a screen writer, but go with me) and players are the actors (conveniently also called players). I'm focusing on basic acting terms for this post.]

Scene work in acting is the breaking down of a scene into all of the motivations, emotions, actions, and so on, for each character in a scene. The result of scene work should be to find the emotional drama in a scene. For our purposes, scene work is when designers break apart their prototypes and reexamine every element. And our goal should be to increase the emotional engagement in our games.

The most important element in every scene is the goal. A goal could also be called an objective, intention, purpose, want, action, or victory. Each actor must have a goal in the scene. Goals must be pursued and must be difficult to achieve. There can be overall goals, such as win the game, and short term goals, such as get resources.

In order to have drama, goals must have obstacles. Obstacles must stand in the way of goals. This creates conflict, which is drama. Games must have obstacles that stand in the way of winning (or just letting the players do whatever they want). The biggest obstacle in acting is 'the other' -the other person in the scene- which translates to board games as the other players.

The methods used to achieve a goal are called tactics. Tactics in acting are used to evoke emotional responses from 'the other'. Tactics often alternate between threats and inducements. Taking actions that resonate emotionally will help raise the dramatic stakes of a game. Tying mechanical tactics in games to emotional responses will strengthen the players' connection to the actions and their ability to remember them.

I have defined beats several times in previous posts. Beats are units where actors employ a single tactic, usually a single emotion. Actors are taught to act out one emotion at a time but to be able to shift rapidly from one to the next. In game design, each type of action has a unique emotional content, outside of the thrill of a well-executed strategy. Chopping lumber has a different emotional content from repairing a mech. Emotional content, for our purposes, does not have to make a player feel particularly happy or sad but rather should draw a player into deeper engagement with the theme. The problem with point salad style games is that the action choices are so all over the map that it is difficult for players to engage with the emotional content of the various actions.

Actors use expectations to make their characters more interesting and invested in the scene. Expectations create energy which is realized as enthusiasm. Interesting characters should expect victory in their pursuit of goals. Players should also expect to be able to win. Additionally, strong thematic ties can increase engagement when a mechanism works the way a player expects it would. In Ex Libris, library books in your tableau must be alphabetized because you are building a library, so of course they should be.

The process of acting hinges on making choices. Actors choose which goals and tactics to pursue in a scene. If you have ever seen different interpretations of Hamlet, you understand how the same script can yield very different choices depending on the actor. Choices provide the inner (or emotional) and outer (or physical) action in a scene. Good choices are made with enthusiasm, are both physical and psychological, and involve other characters. Bad choices are safe, easy, emotionless, unprovocative, and don't involve others. Actors are often encouraged to make strong choices, especially early in the rehearsal process, rather than focus on making 'right' choices. Sometimes choices are 'strong but wrong!' Making bold choices is important in game design as well. Designers should be enthusiastic about exploring unfamiliar territory, even if the results are not stellar at first. Games should make players feel comfortable exploring bold strategies, rather than playing it safe. Bold choices are a sign of enthusiasm, and we want enthusiastic players, after all. Furthermore, designers should weigh the emotional content or cost of different choices. (I know I just said this about tactics, but it bears repeating.) Even from a purely mechanical standpoint, there are different emotions at play in player who pursues multiple strategies at once and a player who doubles down on one strategy.

The more I looked at this topic, the more I realized how much overlap there is between game design and basic acting theory. The biggest difference is that the same concepts that are used mechanically in game design are emotion-driven in acting. Given that humans are emotional creatures, perhaps game design could benefit from a little scene work.

For this post I relied heavily on Robert Cohen's Acting One, available here. 

Instinct vs. Skill

I've been thinking a lot about instinct it as relates to creating art/games/etc. I believe that board game designers could strengthen their design skills by honing their artistic instincts. But I'm concerned that this sounds like I'm advocating for designers to be better visual artists. While that wouldn't be at all terrible, it is in no way what I am saying. So, what do I mean?

I define skill as the ability to make something that is good (i.e. well executed). Skill is learned over time, usually through practice. Of course, skill can develop faster with instruction and mentorship. The more you design deck builders, the better you should be at designing deck builders, assuming you are capable of improving. The higher your skill, the quicker you should be able to iterate toward a playable game. The other aspect to skill development is that you have to learn each aspect of a skill, as skills tend to not be intuitive but something that must be taught/discovered thru trial and error.

In addition to skill and instinct, which I'll get to, there is also taste. Taste is knowing whether something is good or bad when you see it. Supposedly, you develop taste before you develop skill. Taste develops fairly quickly, usually by exposing yourself to the 'best of' in a given genre. Taste is fairly intuitive, but also subjective.

Instinct is knowing whether something will be good before you see it. If you can look ahead, make educated guesses, and avoid the least likely paths to success, you can save time when developing game. Instinct can develop alongside skill: you know something won't work because you've tried it before. Or instinct can develop alongside taste: you think something will be good because it feels on par with other good ideas you're familiar with. Sometimes the source of your instincts can be elusive, but that doesn't mean they can't be developed. Instinct is informed intuition. You don't have to learn every aspect of a subject to develop good instincts.

Why does this distinction matter? When I say board game designers should develop their artistic instincts, I mean separate and apart from artistic skills. Game designers don't need to know how to draw in order to design good games. Drawing, painting, graphic design, etc. are skills that can be taught/developed. Having good artistic instincts can absolutely make you a better artist, but you do not have to be an artist to have artistic instincts. For instance, I am not good at graphic design. I can muddle my way to mediocrity for prototyping purposes, but I'm slow to get there. I don't know the shortcuts or the rules of composure that a good graphic designer would know. In other words, if I were self-publishing, that is something I would need to outsource. However, using my sense of good artistry, I can still make fairly eye-catching and intuitive prototypes. I still have a lot to learn about icon placement, readability, and so on. Those things have to be learned granularly. But my artistic instincts lead me toward clarity and consistency, because everything I have ever learned about design points me in that direction.

There is quite a bit of overlap and nuance here. Skill and instinct are not always discernible from one another. And I'm not sure of the best way to develop artistic instincts. After all, I've had seven years of higher education and eight years working in the arts, which I don't expect other game designers to pursue. What I find about developing instincts, however, is that once you are alive to certain concepts, instincts will often start to develop on their own as you continue to notice the nuances of how elements fit together for different effects. Which is why I think that just talking about visual design principles could go a long way toward remedying the apparent lack of artistic instinct among board game designers.

Shortcuts to Creativity

Every year, many words are generated on the subject of creativity. Everyone feels that being more creative is a good thing, but becoming more creative remains elusive. Much of the advice offered is about the long term building of creative thinking: have a lot of experiences, generate a lot of ideas, know which ideas are good, etc. Not all of the advice out there is bad, but most is vague and doesn't actually spark creativity when you hear it.

After listening to any number of game designers online and in person trying to crowd source creative problems, such as theming and naming, I thought I would list a few practical methods for designing a more creative game.

1. Give yourself challenges.

When I first started designing games, I generated three new themes that could become game ideas every day for a week. I figured if I couldn't come up with more than my first game idea, I wouldn't need to worry about learning all about the industry, because I likely wouldn't spend much time in it. I haven't returned to almost any of those themes, but the more practice I have coming up with ideas, the better the ideas are likely to be. Generating ideas is more of a long term creativity building practice, but there are other ways to challenge yourself. You can challenge yourself to design in a particular genre or with certain components. Famously, Oscar Hammerstein II challenged Stephen Sondheim to write four different types of musicals to hone his craft. As designers, working outside of our comfort zone will make us better at designing, even if our 'challenges' never get published.

2. Impose constraints.

Another was to challenge yourself is to set restrictions on your next design project. A game with no cards (or only cards) or that uses a specific component or mechanism can send you down design paths you might not otherwise take. If you also add time constraints on how long you can spend developing an idea, you basically have a one person game design jam. Again, not all of these designs need to be publishable.

2b. Remove all restrictions.

Go as far overboard as you possibly can. Remember, if you want this design to go anywhere, you may have to cut all of your flights of fancy. However, sometimes it's nice to exercise creativity by just letting your imagination run wild. Once you temper your ideas with practicality, you may discover that you've come up with something new and original. This works best if you aren't coming at the design from a mechanism or component point first, but rather imagining experiences and worlds you want to create for players to explore. I think every designer should have their 'art game' that they designed not to publish but because they needed to design it for their own artistic fulfillment.

3. Flip tropes.

This is the most practical and also the easiest. Take a common idea that exists in lots of games and do the opposite. Lowest score wins, damage heals, the hero is the villain, etc. Mechanisms may not be the best place to do this, as many of the obvious opposites have already been done. But you can do this all day long with theme. Subverting tropes in ways that are delightfully surprising is an excellent way to increase engagement with a theme.

4. Theme the heart of your game.

This is more for either mechanism first people or those trying to retheme. The heart of your game is the bit that if you change it, it will cease to be the same game. Look at that bit. Find its movement. How does the visual appearance of the game change from the beginning of the game to the end? How fast does it change? What physical movements do the players take as they play? Moving a piece slowly around a circle (Murano, Scorpius Freighter) feel different than moving pieces relatively quickly in a straight line (Tokaido). Kinetic feedback that feels thematic will make your game more immersive and easier to teach. After you do this, you can go back and adjust the rest of the actions and components to be in line with the new theme.

Of course, the best way to know if the idea you have is creative is to know what has already been done and not do that. But research is a long term practice for creativity. The above suggestions can be done today, whether you are trying to come up with your next game idea or trying to fix a game you've already invested a lot of time in. 

Reflections from TTN and BGGcon

Last week, I went to Tabletop Network and BGGcon. The entire week was very positive and I feel I emerged a better designer.

The overall impression I came away with was how important player psychology is to rules/mechanism design. Sometimes the only compelling reason to change a rule is because players will be happier with it, even if it has no impact or negative impact on the overall system. I have seen this idea before, but last week really drove home how prevalent it was. Which also adds a new layer to focus on when playtesting.

I was further surprised by how many "playtests" were conducted that consisted of rules explanations and component discussion only. When you have access to designers who can see mostly how the game would play from the explanation or who you want to critique the aesthetics/UI, it makes sense to spend more time on feedback than actual gameplay. It also helps to be bad at absorbing rules, because you (I) can stand in for less experience gamers.

Unsurprisingly, there was a lot of discussion about how to improve theme integration and UI. Everyone seems to come at the problem from a different angle depending on their background and academic inclination, but only one panel danced close to visual design theory. The panel was about tempo, so I won't complain that the focus was too narrow, since I'm just happy someone was talking about rhythm at all. I think game design should be like liberal arts: the more different areas/perspectives you learn about, the stronger a designer you will be. Hopefully, design theory one day becomes a more common perspective.

I'm not sure what to do about new designers (myself included) who have good themes/concepts for a game and then pick the easiest to design (read: well trod) mechanisms as the vehicle for the game. Obviously, many new designers don't know how uninspired their gameplay is, because they haven't done the research. I'm always torn between telling them to toss the mechanism or giving them feedback to make the existing game as strong as possible in the view that this game design will likely just be a stepping stone to better future designs. I have discovered that while I might get artistically indignant ("Your game needs cool art!"), I will never be the type of playtester who leaves a new designer in tears.

On the flip side, having had a couple of my games get unsympathetically dismantled before, I would rather have my games taken apart by a designer than have them say "It's fine." My most useful playtests this week were with designers who have worked in the same genre and had strong opinions about what my game could be.

Maybe it was Gil Hova's panel about integrating theme, but a common refrain last week was a designer asking for help retheming their game. Obviously, publishers do this often and thus have some skill in it. But I did see a space for designers who are really good at theme to help other designers who haven't attracted publishers yet. Improv theatre and scene design may give me a leg up in this arena.

That's it for TTN and BGG! 

Board Game Design and the Theatre Arts Perspective

It occurs to me that this whole blog is shaping up to be "how the arts can influence board game design for the better." We started with general visual art theory then moved to comparing board game design styles to architecture and engineering. Today, we're going to compare board games to theatre. I'm going to skip over RPGs, although that crossover between board games and theatre is clear.

Board games, of course, are a category of 'play' where scenarios are bounded by rules and play is performed with pieces. Theatre is elaborately produced 'plays', i.e. imaginary scenarios bounded by sets and props and costumes and lights. The primary difference between the two is that in theatre, the play is performed for the entertainment of the audience; in board games, the game is played for the entertainment of the players.

Theatre is arguably the most interactive of the fine arts. After all, the art is partially being made while it is being viewed and has a certain malleability designed into it based on audience reaction. This is why shows have previews, so that typical audience reaction can be incorporated into the show. As far as I know, musicians don't really do this, even though they too can feed off audience reaction. And recently, theatre has been pushing further into the interactive realm with immersive experiences like Sleep No More.

Board games have always been fully interactive. Players have full access to the intended game experience or can even change the game if there is a rule they particularly don't like. Most entertainment experiences are consumed passively, but board games require active participation. In many ways, board games exist where theatre has only begun to tread. That said, there is a lot board game designers could learn from theatre.

In Principles of Design #9: Rhythm, I introduced the idea of 'acting beats'. Beats are small units of action with a single goal. Each actor has their own set of beats all of which combine to make up a scene. Scenes combine to make an act. Similarly, board games have actions which make up turns which make up rounds (or sometimes phases). Players should have clearly defined goals for why they would take an action, although those goals could be in conflict with each other. Conflict creates drama! Games designers should take on the role of a director, planning how these beats and scenes can flow together to drive player engagement thru the entire game. Directors are in charge of pacing, meaning knowing when to turn up the intensity and when to give the audience a moment to breathe. Players, even more than passive audience members, need to have a balance between being bored and overwhelmed. Pacing should convey the mood of the game while allowing players moments to digest new information. 

Pacing largely concerns the time element of gameplay; I'd like to spend a moment on visuals. Sightlines, in theatre, are imaginary lines that tell a designer, director, or actor where backstage stops and onstage starts for any member of the audience. This is done by delineating the most extreme angles of the seating compared to the stage space. If you want to know if something looks good, you will probably stand in the center of the audience to view it. But if you want to know how bad it could look to a paying customer, you go to the edges. As I mentioned when talking about Context in Principles of Design #7, games designers need to look at their components from every angle. So many boards are designed from a single point perspective that makes no sense when viewed upside down. Jamey Stegmaier recently delved more into this topic in a video about accessibility. Remember, every player's eyes will be viewing your game from a different angle.

The next concept from theatre that I want to emphasize is that of the overall experience. Not every theatre focuses on immersion, but all of them put effort into creating an experience that starts from the time you walk into the lobby and ends when you leave the building. Preshow and postshow music, actor headshots, programs, ushers, everything is intentionally provided to add and not distract from the experience. That doesn't mean it's always a success, but 'pulling focus' is one of the cardinal sins of theatre. Every element exists to help the audience appropriately participate in the play (yes, turning off your cell phones is a part of the experience). Many of these elements have become ritualized to the point that, while they may not be immersive, they enable theatergoers to enter into the mind space required to suspend disbelief. Everyone knows that turning down the lights means get quiet and pay attention to what's coming next. 

Board games have similar rituals. Clearing a table. Opening the box. Unpacking and setting up the components. Asking players their color preferences. Referencing the rules for starting conditions that no one can ever remember. Picking a start player. These are a part of the gameplay experience. If not fun, these rituals should at least not detract from the gameplay. A tabletop board game should fit on a table, be intuitive to unpack and repack. Rules should be clear and have a quick setup reference. 

Lastly, good design in theatre, like any design field, fully integrates all elements into a single design vision. Every component, every graphic, every word in a game should be integrated into the whole. We mock television shows for missing coffee cups on set, but think our designs get a pass. They do not. 

As I have previously mentioned on this blog, I work in theatre. The thing that keeps drawing me back to theatre is the collaboration between artists. That is also what draws me to board game design. 

Architecture versus Engineering

In the first post of the Principles of Design series, I state that engineering isn't architecture. I'd like to unpack that in this post. 

The heart of my argument is that if you only pay attention to the mathematical/mechanical elements of game design you are missing most of what makes design design. I'd like to back that up by directing your attention to the non-stop discussion in the game design sphere about how good mechanics aren't enough to get a game to sell, that you need something else. What you don't see in those spaces is a clear, concise idea of what that something else is. In one case, it's table presence/curb appeal. In another, theme or narrative. Perhaps it's innovation or player experience. I think it's all of those things and that they all fall under having a better idea of Design from a formalist perspective. Hence my series. 

Now, I am not saying that you have to have studied design theory to be a good designer. Like with any skill, some people will have a greater innate understanding or taste without any formal training. You don't need to know music theory to be a musician. You don't have to have studied story structure to be a novelist. But an untrained musician still works within the bounds of music theory, by and large, and an untrained novelist who is any good usually has an innate sense of pacing and structure even if they don't have the vocabulary for it. 

So there are plenty of great board game designs and designers. But there are also plenty of easily avoidable goofs that have little to do with pure mechanics. Mechanics are also said to be 'designed' but more and more I think of them as 'engineered'. I don't mean that to sound negative, either. Engineering is the 'How to' and is beautiful and complex in its own way. Design is the 'Why'. Now that our hobby has a lexicon for the mechanical understructure, I believe it is time to develop an aesthetic lexicon to go with it. 

Oftentimes, we see art as a thing people either can or cannot do, whereas engineering is the result of training. But art skills can absolutely be improved with training. Most of art is being able to see the important parts of what you are trying to execute. The rest, of course is the execution. We become better designers when we can see without effort or extensive product testing which options will better support the whole design. 

Developing your aesthetic sense can help with theming, table presence, visual information transmission, pacing, sell sheets, pitching, and more. Knowing what information or elements to include and what to leave out is the core of design. This could mean more beautiful, atmospheric games, but also games that are funnier, scarier, more exciting, more fun. 

You may believe that it is the work of a developer or a publisher to steer a game to a certain artistic expression. But having a clear design vision will make your game stronger, even if it gets redesigned down the road by a publisher. Developing a better sense of design doesn't require you to be an artist or a great writer. A good designer can make a 'clip-art on white cardstock' game that clearly articulates the design vision in an appealing way. And of course, if you're planning on Kickstarting your game, then having a good design foundation is a must. 

Students of theatre are strongly encouraged to cross-train in areas outside of their focus, in order to better understand the process of making theatre, but also because artistic training of any sort will make you a better artist. So even if you are a mechanics only designer who relies on someone else for theme, graphics, layout, art, sell sheets, prototypes, etc., you still need to have an understanding of design. Even from a mechanics only standpoint, the principles of design still apply. All elements of a design should be fully integrated. Every element should add to the experience and reinforce the design vision. Your mechanics should be designed to produce a desired experience. Perfect mechanics in a vacuum is not a game. And if mechanics, too, are experiential, then they are also subject to emotional content, pacing, and mood. 

Every element of board games should be designed. All it takes is a little aesthetic sense and a vision. And a few guiding design principles, of course.