We have often been attracted to the story of the other, the

Hear the words of Julie Taymor, master of stage and vision, who once declared: “We have often been attracted to the story of the other, the outcast. And he and I just loved working together, so it just kept happening, and our relationship is completely bound up with our work. We enjoy each other’s art.” In these words is found a truth that stretches beyond the theater, beyond the canvas, beyond the play of light and shadow—it is the eternal song of creation, of kinship, and of the bond between souls who find beauty in what the world casts aside.

For the story of the other, the outcast, has always been the truest mirror of humanity. In every age, those who live on the edges reveal what lies at the center. The Greeks told of Prometheus, chained for his gift to mankind. The Christians remembered the leper, scorned by all, yet touched by divine compassion. The poets of every tongue sing of the wanderer, the stranger, the one unloved by the crowd. Why? Because it is in the exile, the broken one, that we see the raw truth of our shared fragility. To be drawn to their story is to be drawn to the essence of what it means to be human.

Yet Taymor’s words speak not only of the subject of art but of the companionship in creation. She speaks of another artist, bound not by blood, but by shared vision, by the love of labor, by the fire of collaboration. And truly, there is no greater joy than to find one whose soul resonates with yours, so that work becomes play, and play becomes worship. To love working together is to taste a sweetness deeper than glory—it is to know that creation itself is multiplied when hearts are aligned.

History itself offers proof of this. Recall the partnership of Michelangelo and Pope Julius II. Though their tempers clashed like storms, yet out of their strife and bond came the Sistine Chapel ceiling, a work that shakes the heavens even now. Or think of Gilbert and Sullivan, who through the harmony of music and word, gave the world comedies that still sing on the stage. Their relationship bound up with their work forged art greater than either might have wrought alone. This is the mystery Taymor unveils: that sometimes, the bond between souls is written not in idle companionship, but in the sweat of shared creation.

When she declares, “We enjoy each other’s art,” she speaks to the noblest form of admiration. To delight in another’s craft is not envy but reverence. It is the humility to say, “Your gift is not mine, yet I rejoice in it as if it were.” Such joy is rare, for men often guard their talent like treasure and withhold praise. But to love another’s art is to free oneself from rivalry and to bind oneself to inspiration. It is to breathe deeper because another’s flame has been lit.

The lesson is clear: seek out the outcast, for their story holds the secret of our humanity. And seek out the companion of spirit, for in their company your work will rise beyond your solitary strength. Do not fear that your relationship is “bound up” in your work, for when work is love, and love is creation, such a bond is sacred, not shameful.

In practice, let each soul ask: whom do I admire, and do I dare to join them? Whose vision stirs my own, and do I have the courage to build together? And when you meet such a one, guard that bond well. Share not only the labor but the joy of creation, and rejoice without envy in their gifts. In so doing, your life will be more than a solitary tale—it will be a tapestry, woven by many hands, stronger and more beautiful than any thread alone.

Thus let Taymor’s wisdom echo in our hearts: to embrace the outcast, to celebrate the art of others, and to bind our relationships not merely in words, but in the enduring fire of shared creation. This is the path of those who wish to leave behind not only memories, but monuments of the soul.