What interests me is the challenge of how do I make the flute resonate

Carol Wincenc is one of the most acclaimed American flutists. Born in Buffalo, New York, she studied flute with Severino Gazzelloni in Rome, Robert Willoughby at the Oberlin Conservatory, and with Marcel Moyse at the Marlboro Music Festival.
Winner of the Walter W. Naumburg Solo Flute Competition (1978) and laureate of several American awards she has performed solo with symphony orchestras of Chicago, San Francisco, Pittsburgh, Detroit, and London, as well as Saint Paul, Los Angeles, and Stuttgart chamber orchestras.
Carol Wincenc has been invited to play at many festivals around the world: Mostly Mozart, Aldeburgh, Budapest, Frankfurt, Santa Fe, Spoleto, Aspen, Sarasota, Banff, and Marlboro to name a few. She has performed in recitals with sopranos Jessye Norman and Elly Ameling, pianist Emanuel Ax, and cellist Yo-Yo Ma.
As a chamber musician, she has performed with the Guarneri, Emerson, Tokyo, Juilliard and Escher String Quartets and often performs with pianist Bryan Wagorn. She is a member of the New York Woodwind Quintet and a founding member of Les Amies ensemble.
Carol Wincenc has commissioned new works for flute by Christopher Rouse, Joan Tower, Jake Heggie, Pierre Jalbert, Robert Sirota, Larry Alan Smith, Sato Matsui, Valerie Coleman, Lukas Foss, and Amanda Harberg.
She has recorded an impressive number of albums for Naxos and Azica Records, winning the Diapason d'Or Award and a Grammy nomination.
Carol Wincenc is a professor of flute at the Juilliard School of Music and Stony Brook University for over half-century combined.

We met Carol during the 18th Adams International Flute Festival 2025 in the Netherlands and wanted to know more about her upbringing, her encounter and studies with Marcel Moyse, her first job at Saint Paul orchestra, and her impressive tenure at Juilliard.

What was your path to the flute as your instrument? How did it all start?

I never asked my parents, but I firmly believe that music was my first language. Simply because my father was a symphony conductor, and I was at rehearsal when my mother was about to give birth. I was the last of three girls, and at that point my father had three orchestras – one for each daughter (laughs): the Buffalo Philharmonic, the Amherst Symphony Orchestra, and the Orchard Park Symphony Orchestra in Buffalo.
This was right after the war: 1944, 1946, and 1949, and I simply don’t remember not hearing music.

My mother was a pianist, and from a very early age she connected music with movement, like in the Dalcroze eurhythmics technique. I always associated music and movement together. Music was never static; it was always something alive, something that moved. That connection between music, movement, and imagination has always been inseparable for me.
My first instrument was actually the violin, with my father as my teacher. He was a remarkable teacher. We were deeply connected throughout our lives in many ways, and I still use so many of his ideas today.

Coming from that background, I only ever heard music in layers – symphonically. The violin and the piano were my reference points, and with them came a natural sense of resonance. Even the simplest sound carries life.

I picked the flute after a while, simply because I was inspired by playing in the band. I wanted to play with other people. But playing in the elementary school band was not just a social exchange. I think it also had something to do with the voice. We all sang very actively all the time: as a family in the car, in choirs, in children’s productions. The flute felt like the closest thing. Besides, no reeds, no mouthpiece. It’s small. I can walk five miles a day in New York City and easily carry it with me, even up into the Rocky Mountains, just with my backpack.
But the flute itself immediately presented a challenge. Unlike string instruments or the piano, it doesn’t resonate on its own. It’s a small instrument, and it gives you nothing for free. And so, the question that has followed me throughout my entire life is: how do I make the flute resonate?

How do I bring into it the qualities of the human voice, the depth of a string instrument, the richness of a piano? That challenge, that sense of having to create resonance rather than rely on it, is what has always fascinated me most about the flute.

When I met Marcel Moyse, this question suddenly had a direction. He spoke constantly about bel canto, about filling the instrument with life, breath, and expressive resonance. And for me, that remains the central task of the flutist: to fill it with life.

It's very interesting that you mentioned Moyse. Can you tell us a bit more about him?

I'm very grateful for my first teachers in Buffalo, New York, especially my beginning teacher, Edna Comerchero, who was a student of Moyse and was steeped in the pedagogy of Marcel Moyse. From the very beginning, she had me working on De la Sonorité and insisted that I produce a sound with shimmer, sparkle – the most alive sound possible. That was her orientation. I owe so much to her, in combination with my father.
I graduated from high school early, and I went to Italy to study with Severino Gazzelloni. He was filled with life energy all the time. That kind of energized approach was incredibly exciting for me as a sixteen-year-old. I was also beginning to speak Italian, which felt like the language of music itself.
I had gotten into his class by recommendation of his former student, the American flutist Karl “Fritz” Kraber, when my father had to go to Siena along with 40 students for art history exchange studies program for one semester.
That year in Rome was a thrilling period in my life. I was immersed in contemporary music, surrounded by new music groups, and constantly challenged.
I never got to meet Luciano Berio, he was in New York by that time when I was in Italy, it was 1966, I think.
When I returned to the United States, I came back with a big sack full of new music. After that, I continued my studies at Oberlin, then at the Manhattan School of Music, where I earned my Bachelor’s degree, and finally at Juilliard for my Master’s.
After my Master’s degree, I went to the Marlboro Festival. That is where I met Moyse for the first time, and I had already heard so much about him, and there he was! He was a legend, of course, but we truly resonated. It was a real match. He loved what I did, and I loved what he was trying to do. I worked with him for many years, up to the time he died.

His daughter-in-law, Blanche Honegger Moyse, a violinist and a central figure at Marlboro, later told me that Marcel was listening repeatedly to my recording of Enescu’s Cantabile et Presto right up until his death.
That recording, originally made for the Naumburg Competition, was shaped entirely under his guidance. He molded every phrase, every decay, every inflection, again and again, like clay. When I listen to it now, I can still feel myself back in the room with him.

I always maintained my independence, but Moyse was the kind of grand maître you would follow without question. At the same time, he challenged me deeply. He raised essential questions — about resonance, about musical architecture, about line and proportion. He loved coaching chamber music and large ensemble works, and we explored countless pieces together.
In a way, Moyse’s influence was the icing on the cake. By the time I met him, I was already a mature player — but he gave direction, clarity, and a lifelong framework for thinking about sound and music.

That is the time when you got a position with the St. Paul Chamber Orchestra?

Yes, right out of Juilliard, in 1972, I became principal flute of the St. Paul Chamber Orchestra. At that time, I was the only flute in the orchestra.
What I didn’t realize at first was that this position came with something truly magical: Jean-Pierre Rampal came every season to perform with the orchestra. I was only twenty-two, and I was asked to pick him up at the airport. Can you imagine? I had just learned how to drive! (laughs)

So, there he was, in all his glory, wearing a long mink coat, arriving in the middle of a very cold St. Paul winter. We had the best time. He loved my playing, and we played many duos together.
That combination — having studied with Marcel Moyse and then meeting and collaborating so closely with Rampal, is something I will never forget.
And I must say, I also have the funniest stories about what Moyse would say about Rampal, and what Rampal would say about Moyse.

Can you share some of it, about Moyse and Rampal, if that is possible?

One of my favorite stories comes from a visit to Marcel Moyse’s house in Vermont. Jean-Pierre and I drove up together, and he arrived with his case containing two gold flutes.

Jean-Pierre opened the case and said, “Moyse, look at my beautiful new flutes!” Moyse looked at them and replied that he wasn’t interested in the gold flutes at all. (laughs)

The thing is that Joseph Rampal, Jean-Pierre’s father, and Moyse were very good friends. They had both studied with Hennebains, and there was this long-shared history between them. Being present for those exchanges, full of inside jokes and affection, was incredibly special.

Jean-Pierre himself was such a beautiful player — sensitive, warm, and articulate, especially when he was in his prime.

And then you got a position at Juilliard…

Actually, I had several teaching positions before Juilliard. My first professional appointment was at Macalester College in Saint Paul. My very first student there, Roxanne Berry, who is still a close friend, later became principal flute of the Anchorage Symphony, which was very meaningful for me.
After that, I taught at the Manhattan School of Music, and shortly afterward I was appointed flute professor at Indiana University Bloomington.
In 1987, my wonderful colleague Paula Robinson asked me to assist her with teaching at Juilliard School. At that point, I was based in Indiana, still teaching at Manhattan School, and beginning to work at Juilliard as well.

When I was later invited to join the Juilliard faculty full time, I had to let go of Manhattan School. Around the same time, I was also asked to teach at Rice University in Houston, following the passing of Albert Tipton. For several years, my life was spent almost entirely on Continental Airlines.
Eventually, in 1990, I decided to leave Indiana and remain at Juilliard and Rice. Then, when I had my son, I knew I needed to live in just one city, and I let go of Rice as well — around 1994 or 1995.

I’ve now been on the faculty of Juilliard for nearly forty years, and it has been a wonderful home. In 1998, I also joined the faculty of Stony Brook University.

How different was Juilliard in the 1990s compared to nowadays?

First of all, Juilliard School has always been incredibly diverse, but that diversity has grown even more over time. We have dance, drama, symphonic instruments, piano, opera — and now jazz and historical performance with original Baroque instruments. The school is constantly alive.
We have close to eight hundred events a year, and Juilliard serves the community in a very active way. There are always programs happening, concerts, performances — it’s bursting with activity.

We also have the Pre-College division, which is very important to me. I’ve had so many extraordinary students there over the years. And several years ago, Juilliard expanded internationally by opening Tianjin Juilliard School. I taught there and absolutely loved the experience.

At one point, I was asked whom I would recommend as a teacher for Tianjin. Many people applied, including some of my former students, but the person who stood out immediately was Gergely Ittzés. He truly is a remarkable musician — a composer, a teacher who works from the keyboard, and someone with an extraordinary command of the flute.

What I admire most is his curiosity and openness. He moves effortlessly between traditions and instruments — from Chinese dizi to Japanese shakuhachi, from folk instruments to Baroque flute — all informing his approach to the modern flute. That kind of breadth reflects very well what Juilliard has become today. I encourage to look up for his “A Most International Flute Festival” on YouTube. It is fantastic! He plays like 20 folk instruments: from Chinese dizi to Japanese shakuhachi to Bulgarian kaval and baroque flute, and all on the silver flute.

When you approach a new piece, does it help to know the story behind it?

Oh yes, if there is a story. Of course, not every piece has one. I mean, even something like John Cage’s 4′33″ has a story, in a way.

As a performer, you are always storytelling.

Take Carl Reinecke’s "Undine" Sonata, for example. There has been so much discussion about whether he followed the literary story or not. I even had students who wrote doctoral dissertations on that question. And when you approach the music of W.A. Mozart or J.S. Bach, you absolutely need to know the historical context, to understand where the music is coming from.

I also studied acting when I was younger and appeared in many plays, and that experience shaped me deeply. I feel very strongly about dialogue in music — about the conversation that’s happening, the different voices within a piece: What am I saying? What is the message? What am I communicating?

For me, that is essential. Our music has to communicate, music must still speak — perhaps now more than ever, with the rise of technology and everything happening in the world.