This article presents the idea of musical noise in two paintings by the Dominican monk Giovanni da Fiesole (known since the end of the 15th century as Fra Angelico, “the angelical brother”). I will discuss the theological context and ars poetical power of this pictoral device, which has no written sources or evidence, through the prism of the modern philosophical interest in phenomenologies of noise in general and musical noise in particular. The two paintings portray the vision of the coronation of the Virgin as the queen of heaven by her son-husband. Like in many paintings of this theme since 14th-century Italy, in these too the moment is accompanied by a host of musician angels, and they too are infused not only with knowledge about the realistic structure of the instruments and the playing technique of each one of them, but also with a physical-intimate sense of the art of playing. That is their mystery. Because even though the orthodoxy of art history was silent about the musical theme woven into these paintings, and even though the industry of museal reproduction turned them into downright “qawaii,” music historians have noted that such images are alien to theories of angelology through the ages: They are not consistent with the contempt for instruments and sublimation of vocal expression in Christian theology, and they oppose the musical act inherent in that ideational environment. Added to that is the observation that numerous angelical ensembles combine conflicting instruments in terms of the taste and custom of their time. They appear as a groundless event, a tonal non-shape. That is why the mainstream of musical iconography gives them an allegorical meaning that intentionally eliminates the instruments’ musical meaning and produces the pictorial angelic music as an array of memory anchors: ars memoriae in the medieval sense. However, under the new charter of representation, this theater of memory is reincarnated in the theater of the absurd. On the background of post-iconography approaches as to the entity of the holy painting as an acting object, I will argue that the movement from allegory to noise constitutes a chapter in the non-humanistic history of the self-abnegating studio: a Christian pre-echo of the guilt of the eye in 20th-century thought, and its atonement in the spheres of sound and noise. And after the noise, silence: the last part of the article is about a third painting of the coronation by Fra Angelico, presenting a determined abandonment of sound in all of its iterations. This narrow image is the most emotional in the totality of transformations presented by the three important coronations by the monk painter, and it is also the one that most responds to the eye of the present.