IT'S NOT THE FORM - It's the Genius
Author: Ed Mirza
Genre: Speculative aesthetics, Art theory, Philosophical reflection, Exhortation
Themes: Genius, Form, Reflection, artistic originality, critical judgement, Kant, Plato, Romanticism, eclecticism, Picasso, El Greco
Archival edition: Zenodo / Philosophy record: PhilPapers - link forthcoming

The Genius as Guardian Angel
The Oxford English Dictionary — ever a trusted academic benchmark for definitive terms — gives, for the word Genius, the following entry:
“with reference to classical or pagan belief: the tutelary god or attendant spirit allotted to every person at his birth, to govern his fortunes and determine his character, and finally to conduct him out of the world”; “(a person’s) good, evil genius: the two mutually opposed spirits (in Christian language angels) by whom every person was supposed to be attended throughout his life”; and “A […] spiritual being in general. Now chiefly in plural genii (the singular being usually replaced by genie), as a rendering of Arabian Jinn…”
The Oxford English Dictionary, 2nd ed., vol. VI, ed. J. A. Simpson and E. S. C. Weiner (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989), p. 444, s.v. “genius”.
The striking feature of the above account is that the Genius was originally synonymous with the idea of Guardian Angel — an idea perennially attractive to children and adults alike, inspiring the imagination and inviting existential Reflection.
We have this striking and remarkable idea, emanating from the depths of prehistory: a spirit that accompanied a person: a guardian, an attendant presence.
It has since been represented in fable, allegory and popular culture throughout human history.
These are the mystical origins of the term, before it became, to modern ears, most readily understood as a measure of exceptional human ability.
It is possible that these two apparently distinct senses need not exclude one another, and this essay shall in part explore the possibilities of their connection.
Genius also carries the sense of inception or generative impulse. The Latin Genius is related to gignere, “to beget” or “bring forth”. It can be used to denote the ‘spirit of’ or the ‘guiding principle’ of some project or activity.
The Form
This essay focuses on this peculiar and often-cited phrase from Immanuel Kant, regarding Genius in his Critique of Aesthetic Judgement — a formulation with a status in popular knowledge of philosophy perhaps comparable to Descartes's Cogito ('I think, therefore I am'). It will become clear that, in this respect, the Form for Kant is equivalent to the artwork: to wit, Kant:
Fine art is the art of genius.
Genius is the talent (natural endowment) which gives the rule to art. Since talent, as an innate productive faculty of the artist, belongs itself to nature, we may put it this way: Genius is the innate mental aptitude (ingenium) through which nature gives the rule to art.
Immanuel Kant, Critique of Judgement (1790), §46; trans. J. C. Meredith, Kant’s Critique of Aesthetic Judgement (1911).
Form, too, in relation to art, has a long history and a variety of meanings, stretching back through millennia, with different inflexions, applications and etymological influences at times converging on the word.
It carries with it the enormous philosophical inheritance of Plato and Aristotle, and later the quite different uses of aesthetics and art criticism.
Plato’s (εἶδος) Eidos and (ἰδέα) Idea are commonly rendered as “Form” and “Idea”: intelligible realities of which particular things somehow partake. (Form should be understood here as a purposeful arrangement of matter, or of any other substance, subject to an Organising Principle.)
For Plato there was an absolute category of ‘triangularity’; triangular things partake in triangularity, while particular instances appear to belong to some larger intelligible structure.
There is something persuasive, and reasonably secure, in this when the structure is mathematical.
A monkey has four limbs and therefore partakes, in an uncomplicated sense, of fourness.
While it can perhaps reasonably be said that all monkeys partake of some general “Monkeyness”, even this apparently straightforward category becomes less secure on examination. “Monkey” is not itself a species but a name covering a great variety of species and Forms. If each of these has its own defining character, are there then separate ideal Forms for macaques, baboons, marmosets and capuchins — and Forms again for their varieties? Closely related populations may resemble one another almost continuously, and some can even interbreed where their ranges meet. Nature appears rather less concerned with the sharp edges of our categories than language is.
When categories become more arbitrary — say, an object such as a chair or a computer screen, which can take a variety of subtly different configurations — it becomes less coherent to talk about an absolute quality of ‘chairness’.
Fourness, which we have mentioned, seems comparatively secure. Four objects are four objects. But other nouns are less obliging. When does a computer screen become a television screen? Is an electronic book still a book? At what length does a short story become a novella, and a novella a novel? When does a chair become a tree stump, a stool, a bench, an armchair — at what point does one become another? The words remain useful, but the boundaries they suggest are not necessarily absolute.
It becomes even less secure when abstract nouns are considered — i.e.:
This ambiguity increases when we move from names for recognisable objects to names for qualities.
Just because a descriptive word exists does not necessarily imply that there is an absolute property corresponding to it.
Beauty, for example.
Is Beauty really a thing of which beautiful objects partake? Or have we attached a word to a range of experiences — responses to harmony, proportion, colour, vitality, symmetry, surprise, association and innumerable other qualities?
Looked at in this way, a Form of this sort can be said to arise as a collective cloud of references, used as a basis for comparison…
In that sense the Form begins to appear as emergent and subject to constraining forces, constituting a Class or category of existence, such as ‘paintings’, and it corresponds to a noun - or linguistic category - that is nonetheless loose at the edges (when does a painting become a sculpture, and when is it a print, a photograph or a found object?).
In the case of AI music, for example, it may produce guitar-like plucked sounds. It could be said to have created a pool of interconnections within its neural network similar to one of these ‘collective Forms’, such that even hybrid sounds containing synthesizer textures may still partake of ‘guitarness’.
These are essentially linguistic categories.
Therefore, when we say that someone is talented at the piano, this may seem, to some degree, to imply that the piano is an absolute category for which they were especially primed. What the expression may indicate more fundamentally, however, is a peculiar constellation of musical understanding, coordination, touch, dexterity, memory and responsiveness — capacities drawn into relation by a particular invented Form.

A Form carries with it the implication of an Organising Principle (Genius). It can apply to abstract matters such as music and arguments, and denotes an arrangement; in this sense, it is crucially distinguished from Matter.
Eidos (from which we obviously derive the word ‘idea’) meant the organising principle, and was later translated as ‘species’, implying a differentiating characteristic; it could also be translated as ‘forma’. It was the search for a category. In this sense it has carried over into modern usage (dropping the ‘a’ from ‘forma’) as an organisation of matter into a certain category or class of existence — i.e. ‘it came into Form’.
It is this crucial distinction that gives the word ‘Form’ its rather strange meaning. It is to be distinguished from matter: in the case of a cup, for example, matter is the substance that actually makes up its physical existence; Form is the organising principle and all that it implies in the Formation of that matter into a cup.
Therefore, for Kant when he speaks of the Form, especially in his Critique of Aesthetic Judgment, he is talking about how ‘Nature’ through the ‘Artist’ and ‘Genius’ creates the Form - ie the organisation of matter that is the artwork.
As we have seen:
“Genius is the talent (natural endowment) which gives the rule to art. Since talent, as an innate productive faculty of the artist, belongs itself to nature, we may put it this way: Genius is the innate mental aptitude (ingenium) through which nature gives the rule to art.”
Immanuel Kant, Critique of Judgement (1790), §46; trans. J. C. Meredith, Kant’s Critique of Aesthetic Judgement (1911).
It is curious how this use of the word Form almost appears as the opposite to Plato’s Eidos or ultimate category or organising principle, since it denotes a finite object (which could be one among many objects falling under the category of one Eidos). Yet it still denotes the arrangement of matter in a particular way, so as to create an artwork, for example.
The Kantian account of the creation of a work of art ultimately implies a decision to arrange matter, out of infinitely many possibilities, into one particular chosen Form — i.e. the artwork — and the artist, or Genius, does this.
For Kant:
The artist works with given material and within certain conventions of taste, making decisions in order to produce an arrangement, object or ‘Form’ that is ‘beautiful’, ‘evocative’, ‘moving’, challenging, and so on. It is guided by a principle which ‘gives the Rule to that matter’ — i.e. decides the order in which it should consist — the Form — and this guiding principle is Genius and moreover since he describes Genius as part of Nature, it is ‘Nature’ working on matter.
Later theorists, in relation to art, would align Form with the visual relations of tone, line and colour in painting, at times reducing these to entirely ‘abstract Forms’ as part of the fervour for Abstract Expressionism in the 1950s in the United States. In general, then, the ‘Formal relations’ in a painting by, say, Raphael, are to be understood in this sense.
Kant’s observation was that Genius ‘gives the Rule’ to Art (a Form)
Since this word appears in the context of his book ‘The Critique of Aesthetic Judgment’, it is meant in the sense that this ‘Rule’ becomes a standard for applying ‘judgement’ and ‘Criticism’ to that work of art (and all works of art in general).
It implies that the Genius makes the Rules that appear in the Form, and that these Rules become discernible only in the Form.
The Art as Per-Form-nace
What is also crucial is that the Rule only becomes apparent through the making of the artwork (the Form), and Kant explicitly points out that the Artist cannot explain or communicate how he came by the impulses that produced these decisions while making the work. In essence, the art is the only vehicle for communicating the Rule.
That is to say that the meaning and the ‘Rule’ emerge in the ‘performance’ of the artwork, or are ‘gathered’ from the performance. There is a distant etymological link, coming through French, between perFormance and Form in this respect.
The Rule
The word ‘Rule’ is used very much in the context of assessing the ways and means of applying Judgment and Critique in the realms of Art and Aesthetics.
One interesting inference from this is that, put more simply — or in a cruder metaphysics — ‘art is not produced by following Rules’, or at least not by following Rules alone.
Rules as an Operative Word
This sense of ‘Rules’ becomes operative in this text, which is a discussion of the concept of the ‘Rules’ of art and the relationship of both the critic and the artist to the possibility of such Rules.
Reflection
The concept of Reflection in relation to art criticism has a broad lineage, and one particular strand is especially relevant here.
Johann Gottlieb Fichte made self-Reflection central to his Wissenschaftslehre, notably in On the Concept of the Wissenschaftslehre (1794) and the Attempt at a New Presentation of the Wissenschaftslehre (1797–98). Friedrich Schlegel’s Athenaeum Fragments (1798) and Novalis’s Fichte Studies (1795–96) transformed Reflection into a crucial element of Early Romantic thought and criticism.
Walter Benjamin later reconstructed this tradition in his doctoral dissertation The Concept of Criticism in German Romanticism, completed in 1919 and published in 1920.

For Benjamin, this made criticism something more than judgement or explanation applied to a finished work. The artwork itself contains a Reflective potential which criticism can continue and unfold. The critic does not simply stand outside the work and assess it, but enters into its movement of Reflection, allowing relationships and possibilities already present within it to develop further.
The artwork was understood as resonant with Reflections and associations that could continue to unfold. Thought turns back upon its own activity: an earlier Form of thinking can itself become the content of a further act. Criticism could therefore attempt to identify with something of the artist’s own Reflective process — and these choices, revisions, associations and transformations may therefore remain active within the completed work.
The Reflective act is then a journey continued by the critic, or indeed by anyone seriously considering the work. They bring to it their own knowledge and experience, memories of other artworks, ideas and associations; these in turn are reflected upon and revised through the encounter with the work itself.
The Ideal Form of Art - Art as Ideal Class of Category
There is a crucial difference between what the artist experiences or sees in the mind’s eye — both as an initial vision and as an imagined artwork, as they envisage it taking shape — and the actual artwork that results.
These ideas and visual experiences, apprehended prior to creating an artwork, also contributed to a sense of a penumbra, collective cloud or Class of ideal artwork, to which all individual artworks are compared.
They formed an idea of a Totality of Art — a cluster of ideas about what art is, constituting an absolute of which no single work of art is fully representative.
This notion of an Absolute Class of Artwork, or a collective overarching ideal, of course resonates with Plato’s Eidos (Idea) or Ultimate Form (in the sense of shape, idea or guiding principle). It reads as an inflexion of this Form.
It can again be read as an imaginative, if no less real, cloud or penumbra of Forms and Ideas connected with Art.
Romantic Irony
Close to this was the idea of Romantic Irony.
This too was derived from the difference between the experience or imaginative vision and the actual artwork produced.
The artwork was understood as insufficient fully to capture the original vision or experience, yet at the same time filled with appreciable Formal interactions in its own right, which were perhaps not foreseen, but which were experienced and fully appreciated during the process of making it, and afterwards.
It was therefore also seen that within this the artwork carried within it qualities which were appreciable even within Romantic Irony and this sense of compromise - qualities that may be seen as occupying this ambiguous territory between achievement and ‘falling short’. It could be seen as a ‘fault line’ between a mediumless communication and the medium itself. It brings with it its own Forms and interactions which in some senses could not be foreseen but which unfold from viewing.
The act of choosing a medium (i.e. painting) through which to relate it to others was part of this irony. It concerns how that experience or vision is communicated through the organisation of actual matter — the committing of the vision or experience to some chosen arrangement of matter — which is, of course, the necessary and only available means of attempting to communicate such an experience.
So, in this sense, Nature ‘applying the Rule to art’ through Genius, is partly an enactment of this conceivable compromise in actually choosing a medium and committing it to Form, as indicated by these moments of Romantic Irony.
Form of the Form
Another intriguing point is that this Romantic Reflective process also gives rise to a striking inflection of the word Form. In Fichte, a first Form of thought can itself become the content of a second Reflective act: Form is reflected upon by another Form. In this sense, Reflection produces what he calls the “Form of the Form” — a recursive movement in which consciousness turns back upon its own structure.
Applying the Rule
This decision — this Application of the Rule — is made within certain conventions: to rest upon a certain style, to modify it, or to circumvent it in some way, so as to give Form to the impulse emanating from Genius.
Alignment between Creation and Criticism
Here there is an alignment between the creation of the work of art and the critic’s response, with this Rule giving the critic the criteria for evaluating this and other artworks.
The Tyranny of the Form
How, then, does the critic or the Artist apply this Reflective process and the ‘prescribing’ of the Rule to Art?
Though criticism may proceed through formal, historical, social, psychological or many other kinds of analysis, Reflection may point to a common factor among these approaches. The Reflective demand is rather that the critic remain conscious of the method and assumptions being brought to the work — and capable of revising them when the work itself gives reason to do so.
It is conceivable that a critical method — Marxist, psychoanalytic or formal, for example, the latter based on arrangements of colours, tones and perhaps particular academic standards of depiction — can itself become a repeated formula or Form. What begins as a powerful means of understanding art could harden into a Rule through which every subsequent work is expected to pass. Reflection provides a means of keeping the method itself open to criticism.
Both the critic and the artist have knowledge of existing Forms — styles, prominent and otherwise; movements, conventions, techniques and precedents — as part of their entire approach. This makes comparison possible: the work can be placed beside other works, its departures recognised, its successes or failures considered, and its relations and responses to the Cultural Climate around it understood.
Yet the very knowledge that enables judgement can also restrict it. It can be tempting to assess a work only in the light of the range of artistic Forms available to one’s perception, or only through the preconceived ideas one habitually carries. Once a particular Form has become familiar as a sign of successful art, it is easy to judge subsequent work according to its conformity with that Form. The unfamiliar may then appear incompetent simply because the Rule by which it might eventually be understood has not yet become visible. The Reflective critic therefore needs Forms, but must remain capable of Reflecting upon the Forms through which the judgement itself is being made.
What can be concluded is that existing Forms are useful but can govern perception unconsciously.
For the artist, existing artworks, styles, techniques and ideas constitute an immense inherited repertoire. These may be followed, rejected, combined or transformed. But here too familiarity can become confinement. It could all too easily become an unconsidered reconfiguration of existing art Forms, examples and also attitudes and ideas, with limited consideration, critical distance, or Reflection. In that sense, a successful solution becomes a style; a style becomes a method; and this method can unconsciously, unless closely guarded, become repetition.
These considerations suggest that, in this sense, both artist and critic could become unconsciously guided by pre-existing Forms rather than prompted by deeper Reflection within themselves.
For both artist and critic, then, Reflection involves a certain distance from the Forms one already knows. Not their rejection, but the ability to recognise them as Forms rather than as final laws.
Postmodernism and Eclecticism as Freedom with a range of Forms
As time progresses, an increasing range of styles inevitably becomes available, accelerated by changes in communications and technology. It is tempting to regard Postmodernism, with its scepticism towards overarching narratives, its freedom to quote, appropriate and combine historical styles, and its characteristic eclecticism, as a kind of collective Reflective distance from Form. An artist apparently stands above a whole repertoire of styles and chooses among them at will.
This could appear comparable to a degree of freedom that the ‘Genius’ may have when ‘Prescribing the Rule’ to art — suggesting that Postmodern eclecticism may constitute a certain critical distance from the range of Forms.
Yet eclecticism does not by itself constitute Reflection. An artist may quote ten Forms and remain entirely imprisoned by the eleventh: eclecticism itself
Arguably, if the artist is not motivated by some deep critical Reflective insight — perhaps in relation to culture or to recent concerns of the human condition — the appropriation, application or circumvention of these Forms could itself become habitual, predictable and repeatable. The refusal of one convention can become another convention.
Therefore, someone working even in this Eclectic way could still be driven by partisan, derivational or reactionary views. Once again Eclecticism can emerge as another Rule — resulting in repetition, staleness and a lack of essential vibrancy, and simply constituting a prescribed Form.
What emerges here is that, whether an artist works within prescribed Forms, circumvents them, or appropriates multiple styles and Forms, recombining and repurposing them in various ways, it is crucial — whenever a critic encounters this — that they maintain a relationship to Form that remains Reflective and alive, rather than one that has become merely derivative, partisan or automatic.
The point is that artist and critic must remain alert and subtly aware, maintaining a Reflective frame of mind in order either to remain awake to original and pioneering impulses, or to create them. Reflection allows both critic and artist to use those Forms without becoming unconsciously governed by them.
And one may ask how it is that a Genius might arrive at a unique modification of, or break from, any stylistic currency — rather than become a Prisoner of those Forms.
The Perennial End of History
If one considers it, the sense of standing at a momentous turning point in history has been expressed by artists on many occasions, at junctures that may now appear surprising to us. It has emerged repeatedly as a sense of standing at the threshold of a vast cultural transformation, often read in an apocalyptic register.
A sense of being on the cusp of ‘The End of History’ characterised many of the art Forms and expressions of the Fin de Siècle, when people perceived themselves as standing on the cusp of Modernity. There was a strong historical self-consciousness: the past increasingly appeared as a vast repertoire of available Forms, while the present could seem belated, over-refined, saturated and exhausted. There was a sense that the old world was ending.
William Blake, Byron and Caspar David Friedrich produced works that, in different ways, reflected a sense of standing at great turning points in the journey of humanity.
Even some ‘Baroque’ artists could be seen to express related sentiments, amid changes in science and cosmology that accompanied the advance of the Age of Enlightenment.
Mannerism, prior to the Baroque, was characterised as a strange melting pot of preceding styles, which could seem almost to have saturated itself, with quotations from a myriad of cultures and influences commingling on the canvas. ‘Mannerism’ as a word in itself is derived from ‘In the Manner of’ and carries this sense of Eclecticism, or even ‘quoting’.
Quoting also came to characterise much of the approach of Postmodernism and, in this sense, has similarities with these Mannerist works.
Standing in relation to, and with some distance from, a panoply of existing Forms, motifs and styles is a recognisable condition of the artist. But Postmodernism witnessed this condition in a heightened sense, emphasising the experience of having access to a huge and diverse array of artistic Forms and expressions.
At such moments or junctures in human history, a survey of preceding works and productions can make one aware of an oceanic immensity of differing Forms and styles (and Rules) of art.
In the present, with the rise of digital technology, ranges of style have become increasingly available.
Eclecticism is a force to consider in this understanding of the relationship of artists to ‘Rules’.
There has been an increasing sense of the range of Forms to choose from and experiment with, but when does this dissolve into repetition and derivation, and when can it be part of the dazzling creation of new Forms?
Eclectic Artists
Quite a few artists have been characterised by pronounced Eclecticism. Francis Picabia is one who made this variability itself a statement, so that a sense of Form could become aligned with that range of styles, as opposed to, or distinguished from, ‘Genius’ insofar as it is the informing dynamism of all those works (i.e. Picabia himself), whether or not it is really innovative or original.
Picasso is one of the most prominent examples of a similar Eclecticism, though in his case it might be more readily described as a rapid succession of changes in style.
It can be seen that Picasso worked within, departed from and occasionally completely reinterpreted existing Forms of his time, and criticism will attest to the life and vibrant, compelling nature of the works he produced.
But Eclecticism alone does not necessarily qualify someone as a deeply Reflective, critical artist of Genius.
What could it be that would float above all these Forms and use them at will?
Creating an Edge with Form
Other examples exist, of course, of artists who, rather than flitting quicksilver between Forms or recombining and smashing Forms together, worked within a very established Form while instilling it with life, immediacy and pertinent themes.
Examples include, of course, the extraordinary images of human figures created by the Italian Renaissance artists Leonardo, Michelangelo and Raphael. These three artists all operated within a tradition which could, certainly in retrospect, be described as ‘Academic Figuration’ or, to use a less institutional term, ‘Renaissance Figuration’.
These three pioneered developments in the representation of the figure through their (curiously animated) cartoons, Disegno and paintings: Chalk and Sanguine Disegno was becoming an academic standard at this time — a Form, a style.
It was, of course, widely used.
But within this tradition, and within these ‘Rules’, Michelangelo, Leonardo, and Raphael were infusing it with something that made it stand out with phenomenal luminescence — something that resists definition as a ‘Rule’.
What distinguishes these great Cartoons and Disegno by Michelangelo, Leonardo and Raphael is what happens within the Form: that strange concentration of intelligence, necessity and — for want of a better phrase — vibrant kineticism.
The lines seem to possess a life or autonomy of their own, with a curious dynamism or vibrancy that creates a mysterious Gold Standard in art, embodying an exceptionally rare quality — one Picasso was among the very few to repeat.
Kinetic Forms Disrupting Romantic Irony
If one looks at this kind of Kinetic Form, which seems to possess its own independent presence, less derivative of a particular vision or experience, then the sense of Romantic Irony — a diminishment in the passage from vision or experience to actual communication through an artwork — is reduced. In these special cases, this curious kineticism and life appear as a triumphant manifestation into which even lesser visions and experiences may be fed. It could be that this is itself a defining quality of the highest standard of artwork, applying not only to visual art but also to literature, music and the like.
Possibly, this Vibrant Kineticism embodies this Excruciating Edge — or ‘fault line’ — between the actual artwork and the ideal (i.e. the original vision or experience), from which Romantic Irony derives. When such a life in its own right is achieved, it may be a phenomenon worth noting in itself — a Resplendent Form, far from diminished - far from ironic.
In the context of the idea that the ‘Rule’ of the Form becomes appreciable and is ‘gathered’ from the performance of the artwork, this could be a particularly potent example. It could be an exemplary and transcendent Form of the artwork unfolding beyond what the artist could conceptualise.
From the point of view of ‘Rules’ it seems to strain ordinary considerations to suppose that the derivation of ‘Rules’ from this ‘life’ and kineticism is strictly possible.
Vibrant Kineticsm and Rule Breakers in Art
El Greco, from the Late Mannerist or Early Baroque period, might be another example: he provided an interesting twist, or almost a complete circumvention, of the prevailing standards and Form of his time — a unique painter who can seem almost entirely contemporary in style today. El Greco takes the figure and stretches it almost beyond anatomical permission.

El Greco offers a striking example of the danger of allowing an established criterion to become a law. His elongated figures and improbable colours could appear defective when judged against prevailing expectations of anatomical and naturalistic representation; qualities for which he was later criticised or neglected became, to subsequent generations, evidence of extraordinary expressive invention.
If, for example, we identify good art with conformity to the successful Forms that preceded it, El Greco begins to look like failure.
Unless we look again.
Picasso was among those who looked again. He encountered El Greco closely during his formative years in Madrid, when the older painter was still comparatively undervalued, and his early drawings and paintings show an intense engagement with him. In 1899 Picasso even wrote “Yo, El Greco” beside a self-portrait in one of his sketchbooks. El Greco’s elongated figures and expressive distortions continued to affect Picasso through the Blue Period and into the emergence of Cubism.
What one generation could dismiss as deformation, another artist of exceptional sensitivity could recognise as possibility.
Another example of an artwork seeming to break the mould of its artistic tradition is the Virgin of Vladimir.
The Virgin of Vladimir, within the traditions of Byzantine painting, is a work which, though less famous, has attracted accolades comparable to those accorded the Mona Lisa. It possesses a curious sympathetic life: the expression of the Mother of God catches the eye of the viewer, while the adoring attitude of Christ the child and the interaction between them create what is often described as a similarly extraordinary Kinetic Life.

And so, when considering these stunning works of art — some of which break from Form, others of which work within Form — and when considering which artwork to create next, what to do with prevailing Forms, or any Form, or how to judge which artworks are worth looking at or recommending to others, one needs to be careful about getting caught up in Form alone.
It seems that these outstanding works of art were created in combination with Reflecting on existing Forms and, in each case, a new impetus that alters and adjusts these Forms to create new Form.
The quality that distinguishes this process from a mere enactment or following of existing Forms, in any style or medium may indeed consist in this deeply Reflective quality, and such may be equivalent to this Genius which Kant describes as working through Nature.
When asked what quality it is that creates departures from prevailing Form, as opposed to derivative repetitions and variations, one can meaningfully evoke the Reflective quality delineated above,
What indeed is it that prompts an artist to work with or depart from a given Form, and how can the critic remain aware enough to be ahead of the game, so to speak, and alive to the truly inventive and pioneering, even if such qualities at first appear in incipient or surprising Form?
The Reflective Mind as Giving the Rule to Form
A Genius, in modern usage, is often aligned with an inventor or pioneer.
It is perhaps worth considering why this inflexion of the term has come to the forefront, what it may signify, and how it may relate to its lineage: first as Guardian Angel or Tutelary Spirit, then as an exemplary and stunning artist, and later as the striking progenitor of highly successful products, or as a person achieving outstanding success in any field — a figure of exalted ability or efficacy in general.
What, then, are the definitive attributes of such an individual?
It is as though, when presented with Forms and conventions, the mind reconfigures new combinations and revisions, seeking to express something through the subtle — or radical — circumvention or modification of that Form: in the case of an artist, some poetic angle or evocation arising from Reflecting deeply, perhaps on an inner experience or representations.
For an artist, if this Reflection is sustained, it may lead incrementally to comparisons with some a priori field of experience, enabling insights into current cultural and social dynamics and giving rise to pertinent new combinations or developments that resonate in striking new ways.
For a critic, Reflecting in a similar way may make it easier to detect whether a work is stale or derivative, affirming a one-sided agenda, or whether it represents a departure, opening a new angle and creating areas of contemplation relevant to concerns of the human condition.
In such an instance it would be tempting to describe such a process as an augmented or Deep Reflectivity.
In a similar way, an inventor, when presented with Forms and Reflecting on a perceived lack, may arrive at an ‘ingenious invention’ of sorts. Again, this can be described as a mode of ‘Reflection’. The inventor too may access some field of experience through which a human ‘pain-point’ is first identified — an obvious insufficiency, grievance, inefficiency or inconvenience, or some beneficial, enhancing or enlightening cause — while also becoming aware of the specific materials and conditions available to address it.
The question therefore moves towards a quality of mind.
It could be that an inventor of this sort keeps looking.
A problem has an accepted solution, but something, it seems to the inventor, remains unsatisfactory. The inventor compares alternatives, turns assumptions around, and brings apparently unrelated things together. The first adequate solution may not necessarily terminate the search.
Perhaps the Reflective Inventor or Artist is somehow haunted by a suspicion that cannot immediately be named — that something else is possible.
This could be an important quality of Reflection. It could be more than hesitation, recursive reconsideration or perpetual self-consciousness; it could also be the ability to bring even one’s own criteria back into view:
Why do I think this?
Is this Rule necessary, or merely familiar?
Am I seeing the work, or recognising a category?
Have I mistaken yesterday’s discovery for today’s law?
The deeply Reflective mind possesses a certain mobility. It can stand within a Form and, simultaneously, see the Form as a Form.
This may be one of the qualities commensurate with Genius.
Or another commensurate description could be Exceptional Criticality.
But sustained originality may be difficult to separate from this capacity to question the Forms through which one is already thinking and working.
Genius, then, may not be the mind that knows no Rules, but it may be the mind that is unbounded by Rules. It may be the mind that cannot quite stop asking whether the present Rule has exhausted the possibilities.
Criticism requires something analogous. To remain Reflective is not to surrender judgement, nor to suppose that every violation of convention is good. Most novelty is probably trivial. It means rather that the criterion itself must remain available for reconsideration.
Criticism otherwise becomes sluggish. It recognises what it has already been taught to recognise; it follows obediently the Forms left behind by Genius and mistakes those Forms for Genius itself. Kant’s strange formulation therefore returns with renewed force:
Genius gives the Rule to art.
Once the Rule has been given, it can be learned, named, taught, imitated — and eventually exhausted. The Reflective artist remains capable of departing from it. The Reflective critic or viewer remains capable of noticing when such a departure matters.
Perhaps that is the exhortation.
Learn the Forms. Look closely at them. Understand why they worked.
But do not become imprisoned by them.
Remain Reflective enough to recognise the moment when the Form you thought constituted greatness has become merely its residue.
Stay vigilant; keep comparing, questioning and turning the judgement back upon itself. A paradox may conceal another paradox, and another beyond that — a labyrinth of mirrors in which Reflection is not a reason to stop, but a reason to keep looking.
[The exhortation is to stay vigilant, and remain Reflective, and never stop asking and comparing. Always try to see the different sides of situation, and explore the deepest paradoxes, which can be paradoxes within paradoxes within paradoxes - like a labyrinth of mirrors. Keep exploring.]
Stay Reflective.
By the time you have finally established the Rule—
the Genius may already have gone out of the door.
And remember:
IT’S NOT THE FORM
IT’S THE GENIUS.
A critic sees a great artist and identifies characteristic features: elongation, fractured planes, flattened space, gestural paint, classical proportion, dissonance, repetition. These observations may be perfectly accurate.
But the analysis has arrived after the work.
A second artist can reproduce all the identified characteristics and produce something dead.
The Form has been copied. The Genius has not.
The Genius Has Left the Room
The moment someone believes they have Picasso pinned down by his Form, Picasso has already slipped out of the room.

There is something almost angelic about this distance.
There is perhaps the faint residue of a flutter — a rustle of feathers somewhere in the near distance — the trace of a remote, fugitive spirit that has always known you…
Perhaps the older Genius — the attendant spirit — makes itself felt here after all.
It could perhaps be a supernatural entity whispering answers into the artist’s ear, or an image of a mind that remains somehow beside itself: able to inhabit a solution without becoming identical with it.
A guardian against self-imitation.
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Bilbliography
Simpson, J. A. and E. S. C. Weiner (eds.), The Oxford English Dictionary, 2nd ed., vol. VI, Follow–Haswed (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989), p. 444, s.v. “genius”, sense 1.
Kant, Immanuel. Kant’s Critique of Aesthetic Judgement. Translated, with seven introductory essays, notes, and analytical index by James Creed Meredith. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1911.