In the outskirts of Jerusalem, standing on the edge of the Green Line, with an Israeli settlement
in the background, and over the ruins of a small Palestinian village, this film begins by attributing to paper
a poetic -almost magical- function. Paper is the support of the written word, the one related to the memory, as well as to the law of Man and to the law of God.
It Never Pours but It Rains is composed by a flow of images that intertwine a performance
with a happening. The first is an evocation of paper as the law, as a tyrant power oppressing a group of people, from whom
a powerful -almost impossible- body gesture is asked to get redeemed. While in the second, paper
is evoked as a fragile piece of memory resisting the disappearance. In this action, a sheet of paper
is left on a random sidewalk in Tel Aviv, while water drops make slowly vanishing the name of a
Palestinian village massacred during the Nakba (al-Dawayima).