As an alternative to the predominant tradition of light-footed immortal muses descending from their pedestals to bestow genius upon artists, poets, and scientists, collaboration posits the model of the twins Castor and Pollux, who in living and dying alternately share immortality between one another. The nonhierarchical attitude of mutual give-and-take is perfectly embodied in the artists Gilbert and George, who since 1967 have presented themselves side by side as “living sculptures.” Both artists have fused their twoness into one consciousness, a united we-form.

There are as many different collaborations as there are collaborators. One of the most moving was the eight-year-long partnership between the young Polish student of mathematics and physics Marie Sklodowska and the brilliant French physicist Dr. Pierre Curie. Their leap into the unknown was a joint adventure; they cooperated inseparably as one mind. In their notebooks they referred to one another only in terms of “we found” and “we observed.”

One of the most desirable forms of collaboration occurred between the choreographer Merce Cunningham and the composer John Cage, who worked both cooperatively and independently. Like two electrodes forming an arc, the two artists never stopped being involved in one another’s experiments. At the same time they respected one another’s individuality, such as when the dancers do not rely on the sound or when the music varies rhythmically from Performance [more] to performance while the total length of the dance is the same.

If a collaboration succeeds, it always appears inevitable in retrospect. When Stan Laurel was asked how he and Oliver Hardy first met, and how they developed into a team, Stan’s casual answer summed up that of most successful teammates: “I always explained we just sort of came together—naturally.”