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Experiencing the loss of a loved one often leads to profound moments of self-reflection and a reassessment of one’s life journey. On this episode of FOX 13’s TRUE NORTHWEST, photojournalist Michael Driver sits down with a local artist who transformed the heartache from losing his mother into a fervent passion for life. Through dedication and talent, this remarkable individual has risen to become one of the most sought-after hyperrealism artists of our generation, collaborating with renowned athletes and celebrities from around the world.

“It All Started with a Fastball to the Face…”

I suppose I should start from the beginning — not metaphorically, but literally. When I was just a few months old, my parents took me to one of their rec-league softball games. Nothing fancy, just a casual game, a warm summer day, and a few overconfident adults pretending to be Ken Griffey Jr.

During warm-ups, the shortstop decided to show off his cannon of an arm and rifled the ball toward first base. The throw sailed — and I don’t mean a gentle loft — I mean, it launched. It completely missed the first baseman and rocketed straight into the crowd… right into my tiny, unsuspecting baby head. My dad was holding me at the time — a front-row seat to what I can only imagine was a horrifying slow-motion moment for every parent in the bleachers.

Panic erupted. I was rushed to the nearest fire station, and from there, taken straight to the hospital where they discovered my skull had been fractured… in eight places. EIGHT. I had just learned how to hold my own head up, and now my skull looked like a jigsaw puzzle.

Miraculously, I survived. But that brush with fate became the unexpected prologue to a life of resilience, reinvention, and unexpected left turns.

A Trailer, a Pencil, and a Big Imagination

I grew up in Sumner, Washington — a small, working-class town with more pickup trucks than streetlights. My home for most of my childhood was a single-wide trailer in a quiet little trailer park. It was me, my parents, and my amazing sister Joanna, who has cerebral palsy and has taught me more about strength and patience than any book ever could.

We didn’t have much, but we had each other. I spent my days skateboarding, playing sports, drawing, selling little pieces of art at the local bowling alley (you haven’t lived until you’ve haggled over a sketch next to a ball return machine). I loved sports and art, and I was pretty good at both. I loved how a pencil could make people feel something. I loved how a basketball court could make me feel like I belonged.

But fitting in was never easy. I was the kid who could hoop with the jocks, sketch with the artists, trade cards and comics with the nerds, game with the gamers, and land a 360 flip with the skaters. I belonged everywhere and nowhere at once.

In high school, I was captain of the basketball team and selected to exhibit at the state art show. I was the skater kid who also volunteered at Special Olympics. I was living proof that you didn’t have to choose just one path — you could build your own.

The Art Kid Who Walked Away from Art

After high school, I got into the University of Washington’s School of Art and was the youngest student chosen for their prestigious Studio Art program in Rome. Imagine that: from a single-wide trailer in Sumner to sketching in the shadow of the Colosseum. It was a dream.

But as graduation approached, reality came knocking — and it wasn’t polite. I heard it all:

“Art isn’t a real job.”
“You’ll never make a living from drawing.”
“You’re talented, but let’s be realistic…”

Eventually, those words took root, and I made the hardest decision of my young life: I gave up art.

I pivoted to another passion — sports. I joined the Seattle Supersonics and spent five unforgettable years with the team, eventually becoming their top salesperson. Then, in 2008, the team was sold and moved to Oklahoma City. I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to uproot my life or leave my home.

So, I went back to school for my MBA at UW, joined a tech startup, helped raise nearly $4 million in funding, and rode the rollercoaster of entrepreneurship until the company was acquired.

Life looked great on paper.

But then… the phone call came.

The Day Everything Changed

My mom — my biggest fan, my best friend, the heart of our family — had beaten cancer once already. So when I got the call that she “wasn’t feeling well,” I didn’t panic.

But this time was different.

Friday: “She’s not feeling well.”
Saturday: She goes to the hospital.
Sunday: She’s gone.

I was with her when she passed.

There are no words for that kind of grief. I was numb, broken, hollowed out from the inside.

A few months later, driving home alone, I found myself thinking about her. I remembered how much she loved my art — even when it was terrible. How she proudly taped my crooked, smudged drawings to the fridge like they were Michelangelo masterpieces.

I hadn’t picked up a pencil in nearly a decade. But but something inside me whispered: Draw.

So I did. I sat down and drew a pic of my hero, Michael Jordan.

I posted my drawing of Michael Jordan on social media. Friends were shocked — most didn’t even know I could draw. One asked for a drawing of Seahawks legend Kam Chancellor.

I did the drawing. Kam saw it. He shared it. Then, he asked me to create a piece just for him.

Suddenly, the eyes of the sports world were on my pencil.

And then… a letter arrived.

It was from a friend’s mother — someone who had known me since childhood. Her words were simple, but they pierced straight through the doubt and fear I’d carried for years.

“You’re doing what you were born to do.”

She was right.

I knew I wanted to use this gift to give back. To do something more than just create beautiful art — I wanted to create impact.

A Pencil Becomes a Purpose

As I gained momentum, I wanted my art to mean something. I came up with an idea: what if I collaborated with athletes on limited-edition prints, sold them for $200 each, and donated 100% to charity?

But how would I get a superstar to team up with a no-name artist?

I took a shot in the dark and replied to a tweet from Richard Sherman about his charity event: “Hey Richard, I have a charity idea for you.” He DMed me. I pitched the concept. He said yes.

We launched the first “#KEEGAN200” project. It went viral. National media picked it up. On launch day, all 200 prints sold out, raising $40,000 for charity.

That was just the beginning.

It went viral. My story was featured on NBC’s Today Show, and suddenly I was fielding messages from people around the world — all moved not just by the art, but by the why behind it.

But this was just the beginning. Following the massive success of the project, my story was featured on NBC’s “Today Show” which is one of the most watched TV shows in America.

Since then, I’ve worked with icons like Eddie Vedder, Russell Wilson, Ciara, Dave Grohl, Macklemore, and even created a piece for President Barack Obama. I’ve been featured on The Kelly Clarkson Show, and in media across the country.

But more than anything — I’ve stayed true to the mission.

Through these collaborations, we’ve now raised over $775,000 for a wide range of charities.

All from a pencil and a dream I almost gave up on.

There’s so much more to come, but I’ll never forget where it started:
A trailer park in Sumner.
A cracked skull.
A single mom with unwavering belief.
And a drawing of Michael Jordan that changed everything.

This isn’t just about art.
It’s about hope.
It’s about finding your voice — even when the world tries to quiet it.
It’s about turning pain into purpose.

I used to think that giving up art was a mistake. Now I know it was just a pause — a long inhale before the most incredible exhale of my life.

This isn’t just my story. It’s proof that dreams can wait patiently in the background until you’re ready to chase them again.

Because sometimes, when you feel like your story is over, it’s really just the end of chapter one.

And trust me… the best pages are still to come.

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