Autumn impressions on beauty – “Makeup through the ages”
Autumn 1999. Warsaw was filled with a chill that settled on the leaves, hanging like melancholy in the air. In this hustle and bustle of changing seasons, in the heart of the Salon Jesień cosmetics fair, an event took place at the Warsaw Peasant House that caused subtle shivers in the crowd – a show entitled “Makeup Through the Ages” .
There was something hypnotic about this space. Organized by the Association of Professional Cosmetics Employers and Exhibitors, the show invited viewers on a journey through time – from ancient paintings to contemporary, minimalist interpretations. Elżbieta Korbutt, like a curator in a beauty museum, created this scene. Three makeup artists, led by Małgorzata Wedekind, worked with concentration, as if each brushstroke was a note in the eternal correspondence between the human body and art.
It all started with antiquity. The models’ faces brought to mind hieroglyphs written on the skin – precise lines of eyeliner, shadows reminiscent of the colors of desert sands. The past was floating in the air, as if fluorescent light penetrated the fog of history.
Then came the era of the 20s and 30s. The red lips seemed to pulsate like the heart of that decade – full of jazz energy and liberated femininity. The eyebrows, carefully modeled, told a story of rebellious beauty at a time when the world wanted to dance, even though the ground was shaking underfoot. Watching these faces was like listening to the rustle of old vinyl records.
And then the present – minimalist, but equally expressive. Eyeliner lines like Japanese calligraphy; modest, yet full of deep intention. It was a harmony of eras that seemed to say: “Beauty is always a conversation, not an answer.”
This show wasn’t just about makeup. It was a performance where every face was a story, every era a paragraph in a larger story. The autumn outside contrasted with the warmth of this moment, encapsulated in craft and vision.
When the lights went down and the models left the stage, the air was filled with the scent of powder and the fleeting echo of applause. There was something fleeting about it, like the memory of a dream that disappears the moment you wake up. The fall of 1999 was just the backdrop, and yet without it, none of this would have had the same poetry.
