Turning a space into a home is a process akin to alchemy. It’s a combination of objects (old, new, inherited, broken, and sometimes of mysterious origin) and an investment of emotional energy. Space does not become a home overnight. It’s worked and kneaded, left to rise. It is gradual, and then it is a sudden realisation that becomes magically real: this house is now mine.

Hana Lee and Tom Davison, the duo behind independent studio Humble Grove, explore this cathexis of placemaking in their forthcoming game, 29, set in an isometric facsimile of the flat they lived in as students. Via soft, desaturated pastels, they’ve captured the whole feel of the place, from a clock ticking on the wall, to a cat purring, radiators popping and pipes groaning in the walls. But there are also magical elements mixed in with the kitchen sink realism. A small fern creeps up from the floor where you walk, and it dies just as quickly. Stars wink in and out of existence just behind you. It’s a familiar place – but uncertain. There are suitcases packed in the bedroom, but nowhere to go.

“I really like things that have a living feel to them,” says Lee. “I don’t really like seeing clean rooms in games. It’s always so nice to see, like, paper scattered everywhere. Pens on desks. Not neat at all.” It’s fairly clear, then, which desk in 29 belongs to Lee.

‘I don’t really like seeing clean rooms in games. It’s always so nice to see, like, paper scattered everywhere. Pens on desks. Not neat at all.’ Photograph: Humble Grove

The game is billed as a semi-autobiographical magical realist point-and-click adventure. Players start out controlling Tom’s character, Bo, but later inhabit different friends and residents as the narrative evolves – these characters are loosely based on the developers themselves and real-life friends, and the narrative takes in incidences and conversations from their student days; but like memory, everything has a sheen of fiction to it. Lee and Davison also view 29 as a kind of self-inventory. “It’s a way to examine yourself,” Davison says. “It’s like a ‘get to know you’ session, really. And you get to examine each other.”

“Like when you’re doing the animations,” Davison says to Lee. “Trying to learn my mannerisms.”



“Yeah, I’m like, ‘Walk, so I can see you’!” says Lee.



Much like finding what particular movement turns their walk into precisely their walk, Lee and Davison’s work on 29 showcases the magical in the everyday domestic drudgery. No one balks at the love potions in the shower, or the deer skull in the toaster. At one point, your character encounters a monster in the spare room and you’re more put out by the fact that the creature misnames you, rather than the fact that there is a monster in the spare room. The exchange is perhaps a nod to experiences Davison and Lee have each had; they identify as gender neutral and so misgendering and misidentifying are things they face in real-life.



“We’ve had people asking about the pronouns, like, why are they using ‘they’? I think that’s fine if people are interested in that, but … there’s a lot more to explore,” Davison says. “It’s just a natural occurrence.”

Lee and Davison are recently graduated, and now often separated by thousands of miles (Lee in Tokyo, Davison in London). They’re still trying to pin down a place together and 29 is part of a series of adventures under the header No Longer Home that ties this quest together. A prologue, Friary Road, is already available on the studio’s website.

A screen shot of 29. Photograph: Humble Grove

In this analysis of place and emotion, they take inspiration from Cardboard Computer’s acclaimed Kentucky Route Zero, and Fullbright’s Gone Home – thoughtful examinations of how space is inhabited and imbued with meaning. Humble Grove are already a standout studio in the category of short, experiential games which have received a lot of attention this year; games like Variable State’s Virginia, or Campo Santo’s Firewatch. 29 isn’t an adventure in the traditional sense – you’re not solving puzzles by building an inventory of selected objects; it’s about investigating the space, clicking on objects, learning the stories behind them, and building a picture. For many players, who went to university themselves, or who may have shared a flat with others, the game may well invoke familiar feelings – these places are home, but also transient; they’re yours but not yours.

Lee and Davison acknowledge their place in this new era of experimental game design, but despite the thriving community of artists and gamemakers around them, they’re still trying to find a place for themselves – they’re looking to express themselves through smaller spaces. “It’s a very claustrophobic game,” concedes Lee. Although you can go outside of the small cramped flat, your explorations are confined to the unkempt yard – you have the illusion of escape, but not the option. Both creators liken the experience of their game to a moment from the previous summer, when they first showed the project at indie festival, Feral Vector, which takes place in an old church, just outside Hebden Bridge.

“Us and a couple of other people were exploring the seating area,” says Davison. “A bit higher up there were these trap doors. There were two loose planks, and we thought, ‘Oh no, we should tell someone.’ And we lifted them, and we saw a ladder ...”

“There were stairs going down,” continues Lee. “And it was ... I don’t know how a person could get down there. We just started making up stories about what could be at the bottom.”

The experience stuck with them – exploring the hidden parts of a bigger place, bustling with people, trying to find a moment for themselves. It’s the sort of thinking that guides their work. When asked about the appeal of 29, about what has made people want to play it at indie events around the world, Lee thinks a while before you replying: “You can make a small space about you.”



29 is released on PC/Mac later in 2017