Max Olijnyk

Like all of you, I love Keegan. I’m so sorry he died. He was amazing.

I’ve been living in New Zealand for the past few years, so the main way I’ve interacted with Keegan is online—I was loving the snack reports. His messages were usually responses to my own Instagram stories: ‘Yer Max’ or ‘Yeee’ or ‘I was talking to Bettina Liano about making some plaid pants actually’. Earlier this year he sent me some clips of him skating by himself in Queensland, where he was trying to chill out for a month. I could tell he was having a hard time, but it was good to just chat for a while and encourage him to film himself skating, which we all know is a pathetic thing to do. He said: ‘I feel like you but without a partner and a kid and a bread baking machine’. I don’t use a bread baking machine, by the way.

I can’t remember meeting Keegan. Probably similar to most of you, I just remember liking him straight away, like we’d known each other for ages. He was a lot of fun to be around. The way he moved through life was really sweet and self aware, and silly.

He was very resourceful. One winter he seemed to make little camp fires wherever he went—at skateparks, in people’s backyards. One day when we were walking around in South Melbourne, he found a shopping trolley by the side of the road and insisted on pushing it with our skateboards in it. It was really noisy.

From my time running exhibition openings and book launches, I can say that Keegan was an avid patron of the arts. He and his friends always showed up very punctually and stacked their boards neatly inside the door, then stood around being funny and charming while drinking all the free alcohol. My workmates went from being terrified of them, to checking with me to make sure they knew about each opening. They were shocked at how polite and nice the skaters were, particularly Keegan, who often brought his own bag of food to share. A couple of my old workmates have actually contacted me to say how sorry they are that he died. They all loved him, too.

Everybody loved Keegan. Well, most of the time. I remember one time when some of his old mates from Queensland were in town, Trent and maybe Will, and all the Panthers had gathered at the Lord Newry. They were all there drinking and eating parmas, seemingly having a nice evening, but when Keegan walked in, I saw all their faces light up and everyone got excited. It was like it was a surprise party for Keegan, but he was just a few minutes late.

When someone is going through a hard time, I always try to be there for them by asking them out for a drink or a skate. Often we won’t talk about ‘stuff’ much, because it’s understood that what we’re doing is sort of an escape from all that. I think that often that really is enough, but something like this happening makes me realise just how close I’ve come to losing so many other friends, and we’ve just been really lucky. It’s a reminder of how easily it can end. I don’t know what my point is, but I think we should all feel really lucky to be here, and to have loved Keegan, and to have a thing like skateboarding that we can do to make us feel better.

The skaters of Melbourne are my favourite group of people in the world. I crave your approval. I love what you’re wearing. I imagine what you’d think of everything I do. You’re all more charming and funny and clever than most people. Please be careful and look after each other.

Thanks Keegan, I love you, you were one of my favourites. My sincerest condolences to Keegan’s family, I’m sorry you lost your boy.