Industrial skeleton removed to make room for something entirely different
In Criciúma, Santa Catarina, the pavilions of Cecrisa — a ceramic empire that once shipped tiles to more than fifty countries and gave a city its identity — are being prepared for demolition. In their place, a R$200 million innovation park will rise, designed around the idea that proximity between work, housing, and knowledge can replace what the factory floor once provided. It is a story playing out in industrial cities across the world: the moment a community decides that its future must be built from different materials than its past.
- A factory that defined Criciúma's economy for over half a century is about to be physically erased from the city's landscape.
- The 2019 acquisition of Cecrisa by Dexco severed the brand from its birthplace, leaving sixty thousand square meters of industrial heritage in administrative limbo.
- Legal and bureaucratic entanglements over land title are delaying demolition, with the site still technically tied to state utility company Celesc.
- The Leonardo da Vinci Innovation Park promises labs, coworking spaces, and a 'fifteen-minute city' model — but whether it can replicate Cecrisa's employment and economic weight remains unproven.
- Criciúma is wagering its next chapter on the exchange of ideas rather than the production of goods, a bet that carries both ambition and risk.
For more than fifty years, the Cecrisa factory was the beating heart of Criciúma's industrial identity. Founded in 1966 by Manoel Dilor de Freitas and producing its first ceramic tiles in 1971, the company grew into a global exporter, shipping revestimentos to over fifty countries across five continents. Its premium brand Portinari became one of Brazil's most recognized names in luxury tiles. The factory didn't just employ the city — it made the city.
That era formally ended in 2019 when Dexco, then known as Duratex, acquired Cecrisa and its brands for up to R$539 million. The company was absorbed into a larger conglomerate, but the physical site — sixty thousand square meters in the Próspera neighborhood — followed a more complicated path, passing through administrative hands until the municipality and state government took ownership. The property remains legally tied to state utility Celesc while officials work to clear title.
Now demolition is imminent. The old pavilions will be torn down to make way for the Leonardo da Vinci Innovation Park, a R$200 million project conceived under former mayor Clésio Salvaro with support from the state industrial federation Fiesc. The design envisions innovation labs, research centers, coworking spaces, restaurants, event venues, and residential buildings — all organized around the 'fifteen-minute city' concept, where daily life unfolds within walking distance.
The transformation mirrors a pattern seen in post-industrial cities worldwide: manufacturing heritage giving way to knowledge-based infrastructure. Criciúma built its prosperity on physical production; it is now betting on the creation and circulation of ideas. Whether the new park will generate the vitality that Cecrisa once did remains an open question — but the city's skyline, and the story it tells about itself, is about to change.
For more than fifty years, the Cecrisa factory stood as a monument to industrial ambition in southern Santa Catarina. From its sprawling pavilions in the Próspera neighborhood of Criciúma, ceramic tiles and decorative surfaces shipped across five continents—to more than fifty countries in all. The company's name became synonymous with Brazilian ceramics, as did its premium brand Portinari, which carved out a reputation as one of the country's most recognized luxury tile makers. The factory was not merely a workplace; it was the engine that transformed Criciúma itself into one of Brazil's leading ceramic manufacturing centers.
Manoel Dilor de Freitas founded Cecrisa in 1966, building on his father's legacy as a coal mining pioneer in the region. The first ceramic tiles rolled off the production line in 1971, and from that moment forward, the company entered a period of relentless expansion. New factories opened across Brazil. The industrial footprint grew. International markets opened. By the time the company had matured, Cecrisa had become a fixture not just of the local economy but of the national ceramics industry itself.
That chapter closed in 2019 when Dexco—then operating under the name Duratex—acquired Cecrisa in a deal valued at up to 539 million reais. The transaction absorbed both the Cecrisa and Portinari brands into a larger construction materials conglomerate. The factory buildings, however, took a different path. Over the years, the sixty-thousand-square-meter site passed through various administrative hands until the municipality of Criciúma, working with the state government, took ownership. Today the property remains technically linked to Celesc, the state utility company, while municipal officials work through the legal procedures required to clear title.
Now the site is poised for demolition. Over the coming months, the old pavilions will be systematically torn down, their industrial skeleton removed to make room for something entirely different: the Leonardo da Vinci Innovation Park, a 200-million-real development that represents a fundamental reimagining of what the land should become. The city has already begun the technical and legal groundwork for a controlled demolition process.
The park was conceived during the administration of former mayor Clésio Salvaro, with backing from Fiesc, the state industrial federation, as part of a broader initiative called Reinventa Cidades. The vision is to create a hub for technology, entrepreneurship, sustainability, and creative enterprise. The design includes innovation laboratories, research centers, coworking spaces, office areas, restaurants and cafes, event venues, and both residential and corporate buildings. The urban planning embraces what planners call the "fifteen-minute city"—a concept that weaves work, housing, commerce, and services into a single integrated neighborhood where daily needs are accessible without long commutes.
The transformation is emblematic of a broader shift in industrial regions worldwide: the replacement of manufacturing heritage with knowledge-based infrastructure. Criciúma, which built its prosperity on the production of physical goods, is betting that its future lies in the creation and exchange of ideas. Whether the new park will generate the same economic vitality and employment that Cecrisa once provided remains an open question. What is certain is that the city's industrial skyline is about to change fundamentally, and with it, the story that Criciúma tells about itself.
Citações Notáveis
The project aims to create a hub for technology, entrepreneurship, sustainability, and creative enterprise, integrating work, housing, commerce, and services into a single neighborhood.— Leonardo da Vinci Innovation Park concept
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why demolish the factory entirely? Couldn't they have adapted the existing buildings for the tech park?
The buildings were designed for a completely different purpose—heavy industrial production with specific infrastructure for ceramics manufacturing. Retrofitting would likely be more expensive and constraining than starting fresh. Plus, there's a symbolic dimension: the city wants to signal a clean break from its industrial past.
What happens to the workers who were employed there?
Cecrisa was sold to Dexco in 2019, so most of those jobs had already transitioned or been displaced years before this demolition. The real question now is whether the innovation park will create comparable employment. Tech parks typically generate fewer jobs per square meter than manufacturing did.
Is there any nostalgia or resistance to tearing down such an iconic structure?
The source doesn't mention organized opposition, but that doesn't mean it doesn't exist locally. Industrial heritage is complicated—people remember the jobs and the prosperity, but also the pollution and the physical toll. A tech park probably feels like progress to some and erasure to others.
What's the timeline for all this?
The demolition is supposed to begin in the coming months, but the city is still working through legal procedures. These things rarely move as quickly as announced. The actual construction of the park would come after the site is cleared.
Does Criciúma have the workforce and infrastructure to support a tech hub?
That's the real gamble. The city has industrial expertise and existing infrastructure, but attracting tech companies and startups requires a different ecosystem—universities, venture capital, talent retention. The park is betting that if you build it, they will come.