You see the concept art for the Ashtray Maze , where physics bends into impossible M.C. Escher staircases. You see the Quarry , where the raw bedrock of reality bleeds through the office drywall. The commentary reveals a beautiful contradiction: the artists had to make concrete feel alive . They achieved the uncanny valley of interior design—a building that breathes, shifts, and actively hates you. The book does an extraordinary job dissecting the visual language of Jesse Faden . She isn’t a supermodel in armor; she is a woman in a scuffed blazer and worn jeans who happens to wield the power of a god. Early concept sketches show the struggle to balance "office worker" with "cosmic savior." The final design is a masterclass in silhouette—the asymmetry of the ponytail, the harsh line of the Service Weapon, the way the floating physics tear at her clothing.
Pick it up. Read the memos in the margins. Just don’t blame the book if your office building starts to look a little too much like the Maintenance Sector. control artbook
Opening this book feels less like browsing a gallery and more like stepping into the Panopticon. You are not just looking at pretty pictures of the Oldest House; you are analyzing evidence of a dimensional breach. Forget rolling green hills or neon-lit cyberpunk alleys. The visual thesis of Control is Brutalism on a massive dose of LSD . This artbook dedicates its most stunning pages to concrete. Endless, sweeping, monolithic concrete. At first glance, the Federal Bureau of Control’s headquarters looks like a bureaucratic hellscape of the 1960s—all sharp angles, oppressive shadows, and industrial carpeting. You see the concept art for the Ashtray
But then you turn the page.
In the world of video game art books, most are souvenirs: glossy trophies celebrating a world you’ve already saved. But The Art and Making of Control is different. It is not a victory lap; it is a case file . She isn’t a supermodel in armor; she is