BET’s limited series “Road to the Image Awards” slows things down in the best way. 

The project puts a spotlight on select nominees from this year’s NAACP Image Awards and gives them space to sit with the moment, react to their nominations, reflect on their journeys, and speak honestly about the current state of Hollywood and where Black talent stands today. 

It’s less about the red carpet and more about the road it took to get there, offering real perspective during an awards season that often moves too fast.

That perspective feels especially fitting when the conversation turns to Wendell Pierce. Pierce’s career doesn’t hinge on trends, and it’s built on consistency, range, and intention. 

From “The Wire” and "Treme” to “Suits” and “Jack Ryan,” his work has shaped how Black men are written, seen, and remembered on television. 

He’s an actor who brings weight to every role, whether the moment calls for humor, authority, or quiet reflection. 

This year, the seasoned actor earned an NAACP Image Award nomination for Outstanding Supporting Actor in a Comedy Series, adding to a long-standing relationship with an institution that has consistently recognized his impact. 

He previously took home gold from the prestigious event in 2008 for Outstanding Actor in a Television Movie, Mini-Series, or Dramatic Special for his performance in “Life Support,” a reminder that his work has always lived at the intersection of craft and purpose.

Right now, Pierce is adding another chapter to that legacy on CBS’s “Elsbeth,” which has just been renewed for a fourth season. 

It’s the kind of moment that speaks to longevity and not just staying booked, but staying relevant. Recognition for him doesn’t pull him backward, but it brings him squarely into the present. When the New Orleans native reflects on his NAACP Image Award nomination for “Elsbeth,” there’s no sense of arrival or nostalgia.

Instead, he speaks from a place of grounding, framing the moment as an affirmation of the work itself and the people it reaches.

“It’s humbling,” he says, noting how meaningful it is to be recognized by an institution like the NAACP. 

What stays with him isn’t the sound of his name being called, but the understanding that the work is being received. 

“The lasting memory on this journey will always be about the people you meet and the work that you do,” he explains. For the veteran actor, artistry is communal by design. 

“It’s really not about you,” he adds. 

“It’s appreciation of the moment more than when I hear my name.”

That perspective carries over as the conversation turns to “Elsbeth,” a comedy and a tonal shift for someone long associated with dramatic heft. 

At this point in his career, the chance to be recognized for timing, rhythm, and levity feels earned. 

“One of the joys of being an actor is seeing how different you can be,” he says. 

Comedy, he notes, requires a completely different skill set, one that allows another dimension of his craft to surface. 

“I wanted people to see that side,” he shares. “I appreciate that they’re getting to see a different side of my work.”

With a resume that stretches from The Wire to Broadway stages to network television, his definition of success has evolved. 

Early on, survival drove everything; landing the next job was the priority. 

Now, success looks like a choice, as he can be selective. 

“True success is being able to get to a place where you can choose work that challenges you,” he says. 

That intention is evident in his current moment, as he balances the CBS series while preparing to take on “Othello” at the Shakespeare Theatre Company in Washington, D.C. 

“That’s more important to me now than just some sort of monetary job,” he explains, signaling a career guided by purpose rather than pressure.

Longevity, he believes, requires both stewardship and instinct. 

He recalls advice that stayed with him early on: while agents will always handle business, artists must remain guardians of their creative compass. 

“You have to stand on business,” he laughs, “but you also have to take care of what you need as an artist.” 

A quote from Jill Scott has become a personal north star: In your 20s, you work hard. In your 30s, you work smart. In your 40s, you work how you want. In your 50,s you work when you want. In your 60s, you work if you want to work. 

It’s not just something he recites, but  it’s how he’s chosen to move.

Awards, in this chapter, feel less like endpoints and more like signals. 

Opportunities to reconnect. To check in. 

To be reminded that the work is landing. 

What he loves most about the NAACP Image Awards isn’t the trophy, but it’s the room. 

“We don’t get to see each other all the time,” he says. 

“During the commercial break, you’re running across the room to say hello to someone you haven’t seen in a while.” 

For him, those moments of reconnection are restorative and serve as reminders that Black artists are often working in silos and need space to reach out to one another.

That sense of connection deepens when he talks about impact beyond the screen. 

Meaning, he says, isn’t measured in ratings or reviews, but in human exchange. 

He recalls a moment backstage after performing “Death of a Salesman" on stage when a woman approached him, grieving the loss of her father. 

She asked for a hug and said it would feel like holding her father one more time. 

“That meant the world to me,” he says. 

“For three hours, the work gave her a tangible opportunity to hold her father again.” 

Those moments, he explains, are when the work's purpose becomes undeniable.

It’s also why “Sinners” resonated so deeply. 

The film’s historic Oscar recognition wasn’t just a milestone, but it felt like a convergence of legacy and future. 

He encourages audiences to keep returning to it, describing how each viewing reveals new layers. 

“It’s so nuanced and complex,” he says, recalling details he missed the first time and the way music becomes a portal, connecting past, present, and future in a single, transportive moment. “I screamed out at the end,” he admits, still moved by the experience.

At the heart of that moment were people he’s walked alongside for decades. 

He speaks warmly about Michael B. Jordan’s continued rise and with deep reverence about Delroy Lindo. 

The night before the nominations were announced, he picked up the phone. 

“I told him, no matter what happens in the next couple of hours, I want to celebrate you,” he recalls. 

The call wasn’t about outcomes, but it was about honoring the journey. 

“We’ve been on this road together for over 40 years,” he says, noting how meaningful it was to witness Lindo finally receive Academy recognition.

Still, there’s no illusion about progress being permanent. 

Moments like “Sinners” are worth celebrating,  but they’re also reminders of how fragile recognition can be. 

“It’s an ongoing advocacy,” he says. 

“An ongoing battle.” 

He reflects on how quickly cultural windows open and close, pointing out that “The Wire,” now hailed as one of the greatest series ever made, received no award recognition during its original run.

That reality is why celebration must live alongside vigilance.

 “We celebrate now,” he says, “and then we say, there’s more coming. Make sure you see it.”