“The artworks are fragile”.

This phrase was part of a sign in a large provincial art gallery I visited this week.  I thought the word was bad enough singular, but now it has been pluralized; pluralized and used in a sign posted in a major art gallery in a major city.   

I visit galleries to be inspired, to admire craftsmanship and skill, and more than occasionally to be flabbergasted by the utter psycho-babble that has replaced skill, craftsmanship and talent.  If art has evolved into a more intellectual/cerebral endeavour (which could be assumed by the lengthy descriptors that accompany many of the newer pieces that lack many of the features formally associated with art) I would think that the language surrounding such art be equally thought of and considered.

I realize that the word ‘artwork’ is in the dictionary, that it is frequently used in reference to art of all kinds, and that I am banging my head against a metaphorical wall, ranting to ears that will never hear or care.  Besides my rant about how nonsensical the word is, it seems to me to be a nominal reference to objects and images that can be phenomenal.  Art is an avenue to transcend the everyday.