The secret garden of Yves Saint Laurent

Once in a rare while, you discover a place where you find your universe. It happened to me in Marrakech, when I entered the secret garden of Yves Saint Laurent. I felt so relaxed, so happy, so at peace in this little patch of greenery called the Majorelle Garden in Morocco. But certainly more than mine, the garden was YSL’s universe.

It was his refuge from a world that tormented him.This was where YSL sought comfort in drugs and alcohol. “I’ve gone through much anguish and many hells — I’ve known fear and tremendous solitude;the deceitful friends that tranquilizers and alcohol turn out to be; the prison that depression can be,” he once said.

But how can someone so celebrated and so admired as a most influential designer of his time feel so tormented? Born in Algeria in 1936,YSL showed remarkable creativity even as a teenager when he made intricate paper dolls and designed dresses for his mother and sister. At 18, he shone as a student at Chambre Syndicale de la Haute Couture and was introduced to Christian Dior. “He taught me the basis of my art. I never forget the years I spent by his side,” YSL said. When Dior died in 1952, he anointed YSL to be his successor.His innovations — the beatnik look, the trapeze dress, the safari jacket, the Le Smoking tuxedo suit for women--made him the toast of the fashion world and the Paris-New York jet set that partied in Regine’s and Studio 54.

He was the first French designer to come out with a full ready-to-wear line. “I want to democratize fashion,” YSL explained. In 1983, YSL was the first living designer to be honored by the Metropolitan Museum of Art, He was conferred Legion D'Honneur awards by two French presidents: Jacques Chirac in 1983 and Nicolas Sarkozy in 2007.

Pierre Berge, YSL’s partner in life and his CEO in business, explained that “YSL was happiest when he finished a collection and took the applause and the standing ovation.” Berge said that “there was a Berlin Wall between us — I never interfered with his creative designs and he never came to me to talk about money.”

YSL and Berge maintained three homes outside Paris. One was Chateau Gabriel near Deauville, where YSL chose to have a theme inspired by Remembrance of Things Past of Marcel Proust, whom he deeply admired.Another was a home in Tangier, Morocco, which had an eclectic-bohemian flair. Perhaps his favorite was Majorelle Garden in Marrakech, originally owned by French artist Jacques Majorelle, which he and Berge acquired in 1980. Divided by four walkways, the garden teems with yucca, bougainvillea, bamboo, laurel, geraniums, hibiscus and cypress trees. It has over 400 varieties of palm trees and 1,800 species of cacti. Water lilies bloom in a pool surrounded by papyrus.

Morocco was such an inspiration to YSL that he produced 44 creations where cloaks, embroideries, Turkish trousers and Moroccan clothing threads reflected the soul of the country he so loved.

His couture line came in colors that paid tribute to the land and its people: the orange of saffron,the violet of bougainvillea,the blue of  Majorelle Garden and  the sky of Marrakech.

When YSL retired in 2002, he became a recluse in his Marrakech home with his French bulldog Moujik. As if heavy drinking and cocaine were not enough to erode his being, YSL was diagnosed with brain cancer. His illness was kept a secret from him, although Berge said he was sure YSL would haven been able to cope with it. In 2008, he died in Paris and his funeral was attended by dignitaries led by Empress Farah, Madame Chirac, President Nicolas Sarkozy and Carla Bruni. Forbes rated YSL the top-earning dead celebrity in 2009, as  his couture line did not die with him. Today, the YSL brand is simply called Saint Laurent.

“I know that I will never forget what I owe you and that one day, I will join you under the Moroccan palms,” Berge said at YSL’s funeral.

After cremation, YSL’s ashes were scattered in Majorelle Garden. As I walked through the shaded paths of this garden were YSL once lingered — perhaps often inebriated with loneliness — I looked at the beautiful trees and plants that were witness to his secret pains.

Yves Saint Laurent's life was a couture creation he could have woven. And yet, to paraphrase the poet Henry David Thoreau, he could not both weave and utter it.   

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