In the world of Japanese visual artist Takashi Murakami, a design for a handbag or a cartoon drawing can be every bit as significant as oil on canvas. Prior to the opening of “Little Boy: The Arts of Japan’s Exploding Subculture” – a fascinating exhibit about otaku culture at the Japan Society – he gave a translated speech about the show, which he curated. Mr. Murakami addressed the idea that the distinctions between high and low art are becoming less pertinent.

In the performing arts world, this idea often is reduced to the simple notion of “crossover.” But in the last few years, a much more complex give-and-take has emerged. The demarcations between forms (dance, theater, music) have been blurring, as have the lines between high and popular culture. The lively arts are a jumble and will become more so – which is increasingly to their advantage.

The most recent example of this mixed up state of things is Matthew Bourne’s “Play Without Words.” At its core, it is a work of dance inspired by a film, “The Servant” by Joseph Losey and Harold Pinter. The work suggested, rather than told, the story, through movement. The roles were cast in triplicate and duplicate, as if you were watching a play (with music, but no lines) through a kaleidoscope. Brooklyn-based choreographer Noemie LaFrance, too, relied on film for her work “Noir,” which used images from the noir genre to create a non-narrative work with a new dance vocabulary. Both works used film inspirations to create a wholly new experience in a theater (or a parking garage, where “Noir” was set).

“Play Without Words” didn’t fall neatly into either category of ” theater” or “dance.” The chattering class enjoyed a similar dilemma when Twyla Tharp created “Movin’ Out.” The dancers didn’t sing, and the story was told through the Billy Joel songs. In the end, whether it was a “musical” or a “danc-ical” (a word that’s going nowhere) didn’t matter; it was a shot in the arm for Broadway.

“Movin’ Out,” like “Mamma Mia” before it, used popular music as a hook to get people to Broadway. But “Movin’ Out” was also a reminder to general audiences that dance is a communicative art form. Indeed, pop music has become a viable way for ballet and modern dance companies to introduce that idea to new audiences and make dance “accessible.”

American Ballet Theatre’s “Within You Without You: A Tribute to George Harrison” scored a huge hit with audiences. The Pittsburgh Ballet Theatre came to the Joyce with dances set to Sting and Bruce Springsteen. The Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater presented a work by David Parsons set to songs by Earth, Wind, and Fire. Even Stephen Petronio, an experimental contemporary choreographer, used a Rufus Wainwright song for a new work in his recent season.

Mr. Petronio, though, knows the difficulty that using pop music presents. When I interviewed him for this column several weeks ago, he pointed out that artistic types turn their noses up the idea of familiar music. “It’s difficult to get people to take choreography to songs seriously,” he said. “The art world thinks that pop songs are light. I don’t believe that. I’ve choreographed to ‘The Rites of Spring.’ I’ve choreographed ‘Bolero.’ And I find it just as challenging to use a song in a popular format.”

While the artists might be willing to create works that pull in references, images, and ideas from multiple sources (as Mr. Murakami himself is doing and observing), Mr. Petronio suggests that the “art world” and its critics are still rolling their eyes. But if artists know that they are creating something compelling by playing with the boundaries – not just pandering to ticket sales – arts administrators need to encourage them.

At the end of the day, popular art forms (in bizarre, wonderful combinations) will inform, inspire, and safeguard the high arts. Whether critics and purists like it or not.

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There’s a lot of talk about the need for public and cultural diplomacy, and the Battery Dance Company – a small, Tribeca-based modern dance troupe – has been doing something about it. The company recently returned from its tour (sponsored by the State Department and CitiGroup Israel) to Israel and Jordan. In both countries, the company performed and taught classes.

Last week, I sat down with three dancers and artistic director Jonathan Hollander to get a sense of their experiences. The most consistent theme they observed in their interactions with people was eagerness for something other than the commercial or political aspects of American culture.

“People in the Arab world don’t expect Americans to come there. They think we think they’re all terrorists,” said Mr. Hollander. “So when people do come, they go all out for you.”

Dancer Jane Sato observed that people were expecting a reason, other than artistic exchange, why they had come to the region. “They said, ‘What’s your political message, your agenda?'”

“Well, we are the message,” she responded.

For South African-born dancer Bafana Solomon Matea, one of the most poignant moments was talking with an Iraqi businessman in the lobby of their hotel. “He was so positive,” recalls Mr. Matea. “He said ‘We’ve been suffering for years. The Iraqi people just want a chance.'”

What pleased dancer Lydia Tetzlaff was the opportunity to give people a different view of Americans. When a reporter asked the group how they felt about the war and President Bush, she responded by saying: “That’s not the only kind of American.”

Ms. Tetzlaff is returning to Amman later this year to teach more ballet classes at a performing arts school. “What meant a lot to me was that we were not performing exclusively in the large venues. We got out and did a lot of workshops.”

And to have such a receptive audience was especially rewarding. After a performance in Amman, a swarm of middle school children, who were about to get back on their buses, spied the dancers and, as she tells it, “they just descended upon us.”

As a group, the dancers recounted an experience of walking into a bakery in Amman and talking to the clerk. When they said they were from New York City, he lit up with an enthusiasm that caught them a little off guard: “Oh, I would love to go to New York!”

That they were able to bring a little bit of New York to him meant something quite special to them. “He’ll probably never be able to come here,” observed Ms. Sato.