One summer afternoon I walked along the banks of the Nora River in Asturias, beside the land where my new small studio will stand. I saw several plastic bags trapped among the stones and stepped into the river to remove them. I wanted to clean that stretch a little. I had not planned to gather anything, but one thing led to another.

Some things were almost fossilised into the riverbanks; others lay submerged, gleaming as if they were sparking. I found a washing-machine drum with legs, parts of a tricycle, old roof tiles, ceramic tiles, bricks, cracked rubber, glass, metals, a shoe and work clothes. I especially liked the drum: someone had already rescued it, given it legs and, after giving it another life, discarded it again.

I also found a construction sack stained by river pigments and an old dog-food bag filled with clay compacted by water and time. Beneath some rocks, a trapped piece of plastic let water pass while retaining the finest particles carried by the current. When I lifted it, a lump of black clay appeared, settled and slowly kneaded by the river. Who knows where it came from or how long it had been forming there.

I spent time gathering, arranging and photographing these small archaeologies. Each material made the next one appear, and a landscape of connected materials began to form. Everything now travels to my Madrid studio to be tested and to discover its ceramic possibilities, while the new Asturias studio begins to take shape.

I think of Jane Bennett and the disposition required to let oneself be surprised by what appears. The question is no longer only what I can do with these materials, but what they have been doing until now and what we might do together.