Marsden, the artist, has become the art, as she swims under the water in a gold vernissage of late summer light. Now she rises to the world of air and trees that crown the quarry walls, stark gray softened to green leaves that filter and scatter light. There are other swimmers near the further raft and people chatting quietly above, but somehow Marsden seems alone, a naiad of the deep cold waterplace framed with steep volcanic rock. Over her as she swims away dragonflies shimmer iridescently. In front of me a small gray lizard darts and stops, almost invisible, the color of the stone. Marsden swims back, climbs up the slippery granite stairs, laughs, becomes real again.