Commercial SERIES  •  Project FEATURE

Standing at the city’s edge where Avila dissolves into suburban sprawl, the Carlos Soria Pavilion reimagines the role of civic architecture.

Avila is defined by dualities: its compact medieval centre enclosed by fortified walls, and its looser suburban belt marked by housing blocks in exposed brick. This contrast is not merely aesthetic but cultural — between permanence and change, heritage and growth. The pavilion finds itself precisely in this liminal condition, where the city sheds its stone skin and takes on a more improvised, unfinished character. By acknowledging this ambiguity rather than denying it, ABLM Arquitectos situates the building as both anchor and mediator in the evolving urban landscape. Municipal sports halls are often conceived as introverted sheds: efficient, functional, and forgettable. The Carlos Soria Pavilion defies this expectation. ABLM Arquitectos approached the project not as an isolated facility but as a public infrastructure deeply integrated into its context. From the outset, the guiding principle was that the building should be as open and generous as possible, allowing activities to be shared and witnessed, reinforcing the sense of belonging that sport naturally generates.

"Transforming a modest material into a dignified architectural language demonstrates that beauty lies in honesty and the ability to share the ordinary."

The building’s plan dissolves the conventional threshold between city and hall. Streets, sidewalks, and open grounds are drawn inside, and the entrance sequence is designed not as a gate but as an extension of civic life. Covered transitional zones, semi-open foyers, and spaces of visual overlap create an architecture that is as much about circulation and encounter as about sport itself. This sense of permeability is essential: it ensures that the pavilion is not a closed box but a living fragment of the city. More than a hall, it is a porous structure that opens itself to its neighbourhood, a place where brick becomes language, activity becomes spectacle, and the shared spirit of community finds architectural form.

One of the pavilion’s most compelling qualities is its culture of visibility. From outside, passersby glimpse the energy within — the rhythm of games, the gatherings of teams, the everyday use of the hall. From inside, athletes and spectators are constantly reminded of their connection to the neighbourhood through views towards adjacent sports fields and the city beyond. This reciprocity of sightlines enacts a democratic architectural principle: that activity should be shared rather than hidden, and that the life of a community is richer when made visible.

"This sports center gives the city a civic heart—open and generous—where the community recognizes itself."

Materially, the project anchors itself in Avila’s traditions while simultaneously reinterpreting them. The double hollow brick chosen for construction is not a prestigious or luxurious material. On the contrary, it is a modest product, one of the last still made in the province. By elevating this humble element, ABLM Arquitectos challenges assumptions about what constitutes architectural dignity. Brick here is not relegated to background walls waiting to be plastered but is brought to the foreground, explored in its full potential for texture, rhythm, and surface modulation. The result is architecture that is both local and inventive, familiar and fresh.

What makes the pavilion particularly inspiring is the way it transforms the act of building into a laboratory of possibilities. By limiting themselves to a single type of brick, the architects tested its adaptability: applied in vertical walls, horizontal surfaces, and interior finishes. This experimental spirit demonstrates how architecture can unlock new expressions from even the most overlooked materials. It also underscores a sustainable ethic — by using what is locally available, the project reduces environmental impact while supporting regional industry. My own impression is that this decision imbues the building with a quiet heroism, elevating the ordinary into something extraordinary.

The brick’s tactile warmth is balanced by the careful introduction of other materials. Polycarbonate panels, positioned primarily on the north facades, bathe the interior in soft, diffuse light, reducing the need for artificial illumination. Galvanized steel, expressed in bolted joints, brings a precise and industrial counterpoint that sharpens the tectonic clarity of the whole. The restrained palette ensures that no element feels ornamental; instead, each contributes to an atmosphere of clarity, robustness, and honesty. As a result, the building is both raw and refined, simultaneously pragmatic and poetic.

The Carlos Soria Pavilion transcends its immediate program. It is a building that speaks to larger questions of identity, community, and the future of local architecture. In supporting the survival of Avila’s last brick factory, it becomes a vessel of economic resilience. In opening itself to its neighborhood, it becomes a space of civic generosity. In transforming an everyday material into an architectural protagonist, it becomes a manifesto for creativity rooted in place. To my mind, this is what contemporary public architecture should aspire to: not spectacle for its own sake, but a thoughtful balance of utility, culture, and belonging.