Creative Order
At this point in my life, I find it fascinating to reflect on how murder devastated our family—and how each of us had to find a unique way to cope with that fragmentation.
Now, living with my daughter, I can appreciate her journey in a new and deeper way. Odia was just nine years old when Candace was murdered.
In a recent conversation with her, I was once again struck by the uniqueness of her path.
Odia is known for her large, monochromatic, simple yet profound fibre installation art pieces. These works carry a multilayered message shaped by her personal story and lived experience.
Her art is truly remarkable—you really should take a look. Her website is: https://art.odiareimer.com
If you examine her work, you’ll see how she uses art to express the repetitive nature of the universal longing to be whole and healthy. She often references the words of Jesus, the founder of forgiveness, and his teaching that forgiveness is a process—“seventy times seven” or 490 times. This principle forms the very foundation of her artistic practice.
In Odia’s words, "the haunting distress of nothingness manifests itself in the symbols of mundane, ordinary life. Often unnoticed and unremarkable to others, these images—private and seemingly insignificant—repeat over and over, wearing the spirit thin.
Her art brings these moments to life, with the hope that a visual representation of this repetitive stream might validate the tyranny of routine: the constant reminders of unfulfilled longing."
It was through this conversation that I was reminded again how each of our family had to find our own way through the darkness. Cliff, the artist, who was naturally drawn to cartooning, found expression through 15 sculptures that eventually brought him recognition. I found my path in writing—one of my books even explores the “15 elements of murder,” which seem to mirror Cliff’s sculptures. This connection was also captured in a documentary.
Our son Syras, who was just three years old at the time of Candace’s death, has become a psychologist and trauma expert - exposure therapy.
There is a pattern here. As a family, we’ve documented our fragmentation—and the journey of forgiveness that helped us heal our brokenness. And as you can see - we had to work hard at this - to find our way through to freedom and healing.
But what about the evil itself? How do we organize that?
When I started speaking about this idea with others, they reacted with concern. “Don’t write about it at night,” some warned. But I’m intrigued.
What if I subjected the impossible chaos of murder to the power of five?
So I went back to the Garden of Eden—the place where chaos first revealed its face. It’s right there…..
As Joni Mitchell puts it in her song “Woodstock”:
“We are stardust;
We are golden;
We are billion-year-old carbon;
And we’ve got to get ourselves back to the garden.” Joni Mitchel
Now, living with my daughter, I can appreciate her journey in a new and deeper way. Odia was just nine years old when Candace was murdered.
In a recent conversation with her, I was once again struck by the uniqueness of her path.
Odia is known for her large, monochromatic, simple yet profound fibre installation art pieces. These works carry a multilayered message shaped by her personal story and lived experience.
Her art is truly remarkable—you really should take a look. Her website is: https://art.odiareimer.com
If you examine her work, you’ll see how she uses art to express the repetitive nature of the universal longing to be whole and healthy. She often references the words of Jesus, the founder of forgiveness, and his teaching that forgiveness is a process—“seventy times seven” or 490 times. This principle forms the very foundation of her artistic practice.
In Odia’s words, "the haunting distress of nothingness manifests itself in the symbols of mundane, ordinary life. Often unnoticed and unremarkable to others, these images—private and seemingly insignificant—repeat over and over, wearing the spirit thin.
Her art brings these moments to life, with the hope that a visual representation of this repetitive stream might validate the tyranny of routine: the constant reminders of unfulfilled longing."
It was through this conversation that I was reminded again how each of our family had to find our own way through the darkness. Cliff, the artist, who was naturally drawn to cartooning, found expression through 15 sculptures that eventually brought him recognition. I found my path in writing—one of my books even explores the “15 elements of murder,” which seem to mirror Cliff’s sculptures. This connection was also captured in a documentary.
Our son Syras, who was just three years old at the time of Candace’s death, has become a psychologist and trauma expert - exposure therapy.
There is a pattern here. As a family, we’ve documented our fragmentation—and the journey of forgiveness that helped us heal our brokenness. And as you can see - we had to work hard at this - to find our way through to freedom and healing.
But what about the evil itself? How do we organize that?
When I started speaking about this idea with others, they reacted with concern. “Don’t write about it at night,” some warned. But I’m intrigued.
What if I subjected the impossible chaos of murder to the power of five?
So I went back to the Garden of Eden—the place where chaos first revealed its face. It’s right there…..
As Joni Mitchell puts it in her song “Woodstock”:
“We are stardust;
We are golden;
We are billion-year-old carbon;
And we’ve got to get ourselves back to the garden.” Joni Mitchel
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