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MORE THAN JUST A TRENDSETTER: Yves Saint Laurent in his Paris studio in 1965, the year he released his Mondrian-inspired fall-winter collection

The second I knew that Yves was ill, I knew I would sell everything

It's his myopic blue eyes I want to see, nothing else. Trawling the vast online image archive that responds to the entry "Yves Saint Laurent", I find myself oddly frustrated. It's those thick-framed glasses: they feature in almost every picture of the Algerian-born Frenchman, a shield to the inquiring gaze of the world.

There they are, framing his coy reserve as he faces the public, fresh faced, 21, the newly appointed head of the House of Dior. And there they are again, behind the scenes at a 1970 Paris catwalk show, Monsieur Yves further sporting a raffish silk scarf and tight-fitting safari jacket.

And so it continues, my ambition thwarted by the endless pictures of the sartorially composed couturier in, you guessed it, glasses. The more I search, the more I find myself getting lost in the smoky afterburn of a life well lived - one in which he always seemed to be wearing glasses. Then suddenly, yes, no, could it be?

A Polaroid portrait of Monsieur Yves by Mister Warhol. It was taken in June 1972. He is wearing a dinner jacket, yellow polka- dot bowtie and vertically striped shirt. More importantly, he is barefaced, without glasses. But, for all their nakedness, his eyes remain obscure, lost in the imperfection of an ageing Polaroid. Damn.

Of course, I know that Monsieur Yves had shockingly blue eyes. Why all this fuss? Call me foolish, but I want to study them for clues. After all, these were the eyes that helped put together one of the 20th century's great art collections.

In an art world prone to hype, where tags like "highly important" are used to puff second-rate collections, Monsieur Yves's collection truly deserved the accolade important. Amassed without the aid of an advisor, his only confidante his lifelong business partner and lover, Pierre Bergé, the pair's Paris residences were the stuff of legend. Paintings by Picasso and Matisse hung in close proximity to collectable crystals and silver decorative ware, also an armchair by Eileen Gray, the latter an audacious Art Deco masterpiece. So jam-packed were the pair's separate residences, they hung a Monet painting in the toilet of one.

The collection, which included a rare African-inspired sculpture by Constantin Brancusi, was the outcome of half a century's activity. Started in the late '50s, when Monsieur Yves first met the older Bergé, it gained manic fervour in the '70s when Opium become the biggest-selling perfume brand in the world.

More than mere trophies, the pieces in the collection held together their tumultuous personal relationship while also giving Monsieur Yves great creative inspiration. Take his 1965 Fall collection, its shift dresses inspired by the minimalist grids of his Mondrian canvases.

Fashion writer Suzy Menkes, writing in the New York Times shortly after the grand couturier's death from cancer in June 2008, summed up the audacity of Monsieur Yves' collection at his Rue de Babylone apartment: "It was the most beautiful place I have ever seen. Incredible art on the wall and you had to resist the urge to gape."

For decades, however, it was only an elite few who gaped. Death changed all that - Bergé opting to sell the collection shortly after his lover's passing.

"The second I knew that Yves was ill, condemned, I knew I would sell everything," Bergé told the London Telegraph in January, a few weeks before auction house Christie's hosted a three-day, 733-lot sale of the collection of rare art and unusual antiquities.

The collecting world gasped. "One of the most remarkable ensembles of fine and decorative arts created in the twentieth century," gushed the Financial Times at the time of the collections display at the Grand Palais in Paris. "This happens once every 100 years," offered Japanese collector Misako Takuku to Agence France-Press. "It's like a dream."

2009 has been a terrible year for the art world. Drought and famine are the more commonly used metaphors, not dreams - all of which made the outcome of the Paris sale that much more dizzying. Records, records, records.

Monsieur Yves' two beloved Mondrians, one an austere composition in grey, the other a geometrical symphony of blue, yellow and white, fetched R242-million and R162-million respectively. The early Brancusi wood sculpture sold for R328-million. Gray's unusual "dragon" chair collected a whopping R246-million.

The headline-grabbing final tally for the sale (R4.2-billion), the biggest-grossing auction of a private collection ever, wasn't achieved without effort. Seating had to be arranged for more than 1000 buyers, 100 phone lines had to be installed, and eight auctioneers prepped for their marathon shifts. According to one report, a small Paris airport witnessed a 35% increase in traffic as bidders arrived in private jets.

The great dispersal of Monsieur Yves' things is not over yet. From 17 to 20 November, Christie's, in association with Bergé's auction house, will host a second sale of personal effects. Almost 1200 items (jewelled pendants, candle holders, a leather Eames chair, a Mercedes Benz S Class 350L and Tiffany Studios lamp) will go under the hammer. The sale is expected to achieve a moderate R45-million.

Perhaps the most striking feature of this auction is the photographic record of the late designer's Normandy getaway, Château Gabriel à Bénerville. Built by an American family in 1874, the home was styled to evoke the aura of French novelist Marcel Proust's classic book, À la recherche du temps perdu (translated both as In Search of Lost Time and Remembrance of Things Past).

"This is my haven between two storms," said Monsieur Yves of his opulent hideaway, the bricks and mortar of which now belong to a Russian. "I come here to rebuild my strength." Which no doubt involved taking off those character-defining glasses.