From under the red lights of barrooms to neon lights of architecture school, Antoine Soued poured his blues drenched soul into cheap whiskey and black ink.

An architect by day dressed in minimal attire and spit-shined shoes, he sheds his adopted persona comes nighttime, and disappears into his self-created deranged reality of villains, superheros and tobacco women.

With no retirement plan or a trust fund, he wanders about looking for an interesting view to consume, absorb, and then spit out on the whiteness of a paper.

His vagabond days have led him on some peculiar sketching routes, between the cool of the evening on a Parisian boulevard to watching the sun come up over Tokyo's skyline.

His only published work, to date, is an auto-portrait that hangs on the wall of one of Beirut's oldest barbershops.

Bon voyage.

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